The Last Straw
by Auntie Shred
Summary: A collection of short stories portraying the slow and not necessarily steady development of the personal relationship of Goren and Eames.
1. The First Last Straw

**THE FIRST LAST STRAW**

_Setting: after S01/E08 The Faithful_

Disclaimer: _The Law &amp; Order characters are owned by Dick Wolf. No infringement of rights is intended. This story is written for entertainment purposes only._

* * *

I'd reached the last straw. There was no way I could work with Goren.

I'll put up with annoyance, stress and even danger – but a partner who ignores my input? Goes out of his way to flout NYPD protocol? Jeopardizes an investigation with crazy schemes? No. No way. That's not for me.

How did I let Goren persuade me to hide the fact that Father McShale was Kevin Donovan's father? Or that Kevin's mother was living a comfortable, fraudulent life in suburban New Jersey after abandoning her child nearly twenty years ago?

I put on a good front for Captain Deakins. He gave us funny looks, but the fact that we got a confession from the priest smoothed over his doubts. Deakins won't question good results.

Mr. Carver isn't as easy to pacify. I have no idea how Goren explained Father McShale's confession to him, but it couldn't have been good. Every time Carver's passed through the squad room since then, he's given Goren and me the evil eye. Obviously Goren never considered that it might be HELPFUL to be on good terms with the District Attorney's office. I'm dreading the next time we have to work with Carver.

But maybe there won't be a next time – at least not with Goren. I know the guy's smart and intuitive and effective and all that, but I don't need his show-boating.

No, I take that back. I have to be honest. He's not a bragger. He puts on all sorts of antics when we're with a witness or suspect, but I know that's his method for getting them to open up and tell us the truth. It's bizarre to watch and impossible to predict and unsettling and definitely not my style – but I sort of get that part.

What drives me up the wall is the way he decides which NYPD procedures he'll follow and which he'll ignore. Just a couple months ago he brought in some buddy of his who's a forger.

A forger? Shouldn't we be arresting guys like that? Apparently not, since Goren brought him right into the squad room and had him write a fake letter, which we used to get a witness to reveal that his domineering mother had planned the murder of his fiancée and their unborn child. I'm still uneasy about the whole thing.

I don't like the direction Goren's taking me, which is why I was in the squad room very early on our day off, waiting for Captain Deakins to arrive. I sat at my kitchen table the night before, composing a request for a new partner, then came in early to type it up.

Deakins won't want to accept it, but it's my right to ask for a reassignment. It's not like I hate Goren or anything – we just don't fit as partners. And this wasn't a spur-of-the-moment decision. I've been going back and forth in my mind for weeks, but if I intend to move ahead in the NYPD it's the best choice for me.

It's probably the best choice for Goren, too. He's got to learn that this lone ranger approach is going to sink his career – and the sooner he learns it, the better for everyone. But it's obvious he's not willing to learn anything from me.

I heard the ping of the elevator, and looked up as Captain Deakins strode into the bullpen area.

I gave him a minute to take off his coat, then took a deep breath and headed toward his office.

.


	2. Did Something Right

**DID SOMETHING RIGHT**

_Setting:_ _after S01/E14 Homo Homini Lupus_

* * *

It crept up on me gradually until I was trembling all over. I had to concentrate to keep my hand from shaking as I filled out the booking forms for Simon Matic. It was as though all the anger and revulsion I'd felt for the kidnapper and rapist was suddenly swelling up inside me. In another minute it was too much to control. I set down my pen and held my palms together between my knees.

Eames and I were in the Manhattan District Attorney's headquarters, seated on either side of the huge mahogany table in Mr. Carver's office. I wanted to get up and walk for a distraction from the horror of thinking about what Matic had done to Maggie Coulter, and what we may have prevented him from doing. However, taking a walk wasn't a possibility at the moment. The quickest way to get out was to plow through the paperwork – but my hands weren't steady enough for that at the moment.

I pressed my knees together even tighter.

"You okay over there?" Eames said. She paused to flex her fingers.

I nodded, paused, and then shrugged. I didn't look directly at her because I was afraid she was angry at me for the way we got Matic's confession. I'd played up sympathetically to him at first, letting him brag about his supposed service in the Serbian army. Sometimes she objects to that technique. In fact, I wasn't sure Eames was too keen on the way I got Maggie to open up to us, either.

Eames has reamed me out more than once about my methods. She thinks I bend the rules too far for investigations and interrogations. I don't agree, but I understand her point of view – she's much more by-the-book. Fortunately she's never complained in front of Captain Deakins or anyone else. Unfortunately, dealing with her occasional anger or cold-shoulder treatment was getting to be unproductive and confusing.

I didn't want to say something now that would push any of her buttons. This case has been emotionally draining.

"You know, I really wanted to hurt that slime-ball Matic," Eames said, dropping her pen and stretching her arms. "Something sadistic, something like what he did to Maggie, and all those other women. But... I think what you did to him was better."

At that, I looked at her in surprise. "Better?" Eames thought I did something right?

"Yeah, when he was led out of interrogation he looked petrified," she said. "The coward."

"Any man who'd treat women and children like that... he is a coward."

"I know it's not funny, but I almost laughed in his ugly face when you said his scars were from the kitchen knife of one of his victims," she said, sitting up straighter and leaning forward eagerly. "His reaction was so, so…"

"Satisfying," I said.

"Yes! It hurt him to hear the truth – you could see him flinch." She reached for the next form to sign.

My hands felt steady again. The restless anger had evaporated. I massaged my knuckles as I watched her. Eames wasn't angry at me – in fact, she was pleased with me!

It might mess up her good mood, but I wanted to explain my approach to the job. I took a chance and said, "Most of the people we – or, or some people... When we catch them, they want to get away with the crime, but they feel guilt. Something inside them – conscience, whatever – they feel relief when the truth comes out."

Eames looked at me intently. "Some. Not this one."

"It was important to take him off the street."

"I get that," she said. "Putting away someone who was stupid or selfish... we solve the crime, but there's not much satisfaction. But this... it's one very bad guy who can't hurt girls like Maggie any more. Days like these I feel like we're making a difference."

"I hope Maggie and her sister and mom get help... counseling. It's hard to imagine."

"What you told her," Eames said, "when we were at her house – what you said - it helped. It was like a light came on when Maggie realized she had power over that scum."

Eames was hardly ever this open with me – friendly, in fact! It was a very good feeling.

We both looked toward the doorway as Mr. Carver's assistant appeared with more papers. "This is the last set," she said. "Sorry, I think we printed out some of them twice, but it'll be easier if you just sign everything, and I'll sort it out later." She cleared a spot on the table for the new stack. "Sorry."

"So much for getting out of here while it's still daylight," Eames said.

The assistant had only been gone a minute when Mr. Carver returned. "Pick up line two, please," he said, pointing to the phone on his desk. "It's your captain." He shuffled behind my chair to his desk, where we'd been piling the completed forms.

Eames took the call and spoke quietly with Captain Deakins as I scribbled name, date and badge number on a few more forms.

"Okay, got it," she said, and hung up the phone. "Captain Deakins says he's buying a round at Roy's Tavern on Broome Street. I don't know about you two," she said, looking from me to Mr. Carver, "but I definitely could use a little decompression."

"Don't you mean debriefing?" Mr. Carver asked.

"Debriefing, decompression, and Dewar's," Eames replied with a straight face.

Carver and I both laughed.

"Good choice, Eames," I said. "I'm in."

She reached for the final stack of forms and dropped it between us. "I suddenly feel motivated to finish this paperwork. Captain said you're invited, too," she said to Mr. Carver.

"I have to deliver all of this to the judge," he replied, spreading his hands wide over the table. "But... I should be able to join you before your debriefing is over. Or decompression."

Eames winked at me as she said, "You don't want to miss the Dewar's, either, Counselor."

* * *

"Final round, anyone?" Captain Deakins called. He looked around for our waitress.

"I'm good, thanks," Eames said. She pushed her glass away. "I hit my limit."

"Carver, Goren, you in?" The captain looked at us. He'd bought the first round; Eames and I had bought the next two. There were a few other MCS detectives at the next booth, and Mr. Carver had arrived half an hour ago.

I wouldn't have minded one last beer, but Eames threw her arm in front of me the way she might if we were in the car and she'd hit the brakes suddenly. "Goren's done, too," she said, and now I noticed a very slight slurring of her words.

I shrugged. "Guess I'm done."

"No, I'm serious," Eames said. "We gotta be at work in the morning, you know." She looked okay, but the alcohol had clearly worked its way to her tongue.

Captain Deakins winked at her. "Yeah, and I heard your captain comes down hard if you show up hung over. Okay, we'll call it a night – you call a cab."

"Yes, sir," I said. "Thanks."

Deakins stood and congratulated us again on rescuing the Coulter women and getting good evidence on Matic to put him away. He shook hands all around; he and Carver left at the same time.

Eames excused herself to the ladies' room, but warned me not to leave without her.

By the time she came back everyone else in our party was gone. She slid back into the booth beside me. That was unusual; we always sat across from each other. She leaned on an elbow and looked up at me. She was definitely more relaxed than I'd ever seen her.

"You know what we need?" she asked.

"Another drink?"

"No, no, no. Cut it out, thinkin' I'm drunk!" She prodded her elbow into my ribs. "I'm just... just... what did I say back in Carver's office?"

"Decompressing?"

"Yes, decompressing. The horror has to get to you sometimes, doesn't it? This one was bad: children kidnapped... shootouts on the street... Serbian rapist..."

"Internal Affairs said your shot was good," I said, referring to the exchange she'd had with Matic's accomplice who was attempting to snatch another young girl. "You had to do it."

"I know. I'm okay with it." She sighed, shook her head slowly.

"It gets to me sometimes," I said.

"This wasn't where I was going with my question, Bobby."

She'd recently started calling me by my first name, which was fine with me. Partners should be comfortable with each other. However, the few times I called her Alex I got a surprised, sometimes sour look from her. I figured it was about being professional and maintaining respect, or something to do with being a woman cop. I didn't mind calling her Eames if that's what she wanted. I respect her a lot.

I crossed my forearms on the table, getting up in her face with a big smile. "Where were you going, then?"

She laughed and pushed against my head, then my shoulders. "Don't make me hurt you. I was saying," she said with emphasis, "we should get something to eat. You know, food? To absorb the alcohol in my stomach? So I can drive home? Eventually."

"Ah, I get it," I said, leaning even closer. "You're trying to get away from me."

Her smile faded, and she looked at me seriously, maybe even affectionately. She patted my head. "No. I'm staying. You're a good partner."

.


	3. Inside Information

**INSIDE INFORMATION**

_Setting: after S02/E23 A Person of Interest_

* * *

I was annoyed at myself. Here we were, on our way to our first interview of a hot investigation – a City Councilman's wife was missing – but I couldn't get my mind off our previous case, our second run-in with Nicole Wallace in under a year. I was so stuck on it that when my cell phone rang in my pocket as I was driving, I jumped a little and realized I hadn't been paying attention to the road signs. We were way past our exit on the Long Island Expressway; in fact, we'd crossed the line into Nassau County. I never did that.

The phone stopped ringing before I got it out of my pocket. I moved into the right lane and got off at the next exit.

Our witness or possible suspect was in the hospital with a broken leg. He wasn't going anywhere fast, so we weren't going to lose him. The delay was a problem because with a missing person who might have been kidnapped, minutes could make a big difference.

I looked over at Goren, ready to apologize. He hadn't noticed a thing. He'd been staring out his side window for the whole trip. Neither of us had tried to make conversation – not that unusual, but…

We were both shell-shocked from contact with Nicole Wallace. The woman gave me the creeps, and she'd set off alarm bells for Goren. Who wouldn't be scared to find out they were being stalked by a pathological killer?

As we went through the U-turn, he finally woke up from his trance and looked at me and our surroundings. "Are we... Where are we?"

"Sorry," I said. "I missed the exit. Overshot a couple miles."

"Oh." He fussed with his leather binder, and then went back to staring out the window.

He hadn't said anything, but I wouldn't have been surprised if he was also rehashing his interactions with Nicole.

Goren's interview tactic of finding some way to identify with a suspect to draw out a confession was usually successful, but it definitely didn't work with Nicole. To be honest, I couldn't imagine any tactic working on her. She'd turned the whole thing around on him, using personal information against him and acting like she was attracted to him. She'd planned her latest set of crimes only to ruin his reputation as a detective – she killed two people for no other purpose. No wonder Goren was having trouble shaking off the skin-crawly feeling.

At least Nicole was in custody; we gave the District Attorney plenty of evidence against her, including entering the country with a false identity and attempting to bribe a judge. We were hoping Mr. Carver would also nail her for murder and illegal possession of anthrax.

My phone rang again.

"Can you take this for me?" I asked. I took it out of my pocket and handed it over.

He flipped it open. "Goren... Not yet. We're just... Oh?" There was a long pause as he listened. He glanced over at me, but his expression didn't give a clue about the conversation. "Do you want us to... Okay." He hung up and said, "Deakins."

"What'd he say?" I asked.

"The missing wife called home," he said.

"Called home? She wasn't kidnapped?" The Councilman had insisted she was kidnapped by her former husband.

Goren shook his head. "She's in Costa Rica with some, uh, girlfriends from college. Her phone's been turned off."

"Her husband didn't know she was going on vacation? She didn't mention it to him? They've got great communication skills in that marriage. But how come we didn't find her name on any flights?"

"One of the friends has a private jet," Goren said. "They flew out of Teterboro."

"So I guess we don't need to interview the ex-brother-in-law." He was the one with the broken leg.

"No. Deakins told us to take the rest of the day off."

The digital clock in the dashboard read 5:12. "So generous of him," I said, grinning.

He didn't laugh at my little joke.

We'd been running hard all day on this supposed kidnapping. Now that the pressure was suddenly off, I remembered how little I'd eaten. Since my morning coffee I'd had nothing but a couple bottles of water, some breath mints, and a granola bar I shared with Goren.

"Hey," I said, "Want to stop for lunch?"

"Lunch? It's five o'clock."

"I know, but we're in diner country out here – we can do lunch, dinner or breakfast."

"Mmm." His fingers drummed on his leg for a few seconds. "Okay, you pick the place."

* * *

I pointed my fork at Bobby before stabbing it into my omelet. "I bet diners sell most of their breakfast dishes outside of breakfast hours," I said. "There's probably a study done by the egg industry, something like that."

He nodded kind of vaguely. Maybe he was too hungry to appreciate my humor? Then again, I was too hungry to be curious about his mood.

But I only had a minute or so to enjoy my meal before I found out what was distracting him.

"Eames, I need to apologize to you," he said.

"Okay," I said, reaching for my coffee. I took a sip and then asked, "What for?"

"This whole thing with... I completely lost objectivity. I stepped right into Nicole's trap, and I, I, I dragged you along with me..." He shook his head and looked down at his plate.

I stared at him, thinking how to reply.

On one hand, I got some satisfaction to see that the Mighty Goren was human after all. Of course, I'd known that fact all along, and to be honest, I was sure he never thought of himself as infallible or anything like that. He had great instincts; it was true. But I'd warned him that relying on his gut instinct more than plain old evidence and research was going to land him in trouble. Obviously Nicole had seen the same potential.

On the other hand – and this feeling was much stronger – I wanted to protect my partner. I wanted to do whatever it took to make us successful, to make us the best. The two of us together could handle anybody, including Nicole Wallace.

Bobby's apology now meant that he valued our partnership, too. That felt good.

"Okay..." I said, and waited for him to meet my eye. "Apology accepted."

He kept on fidgeting. "You told me, but... I uh, I should have..."

I let him go on a minute, and then I interrupted. "Hey," I said, tapping my fork on the edge of his plate. "I said I accept your apology, so you can stop beating yourself up. Look, Bobby, most of the time your sixth sense is right. I trust your hunches."

He looked surprised – hadn't I complimented his skills before this?

"I mean it," I said, and took another sip of coffee. "But this time... Nobody could have guessed that Nicole was involved. Remember you and Wally Stevens and patterns?"

He nodded, and I could tell he'd already thought of the comparison. "I know," he said. "She figured out my patterns, and..."

"We know her patterns, too," I said. "She could have been long gone before we ever knew she'd been there – except she had to gloat about it. That's how we got her."

"Yeah. So... thanks, Eames." He reached across the table to grab my hand. He gave a quick squeeze.

"I'll remind you of this the next time you're swept away by profiling theory." I finished my coffee, then reached for my purse and slid out of the booth. "If the waitress comes by while I'm in the ladies' room," I said, "ask her for a refill, okay?"

When I returned, Bobby was on the phone, and he was scribbling in his binder. My first thought was that we'd been called back into the mess with the missing vacationing wife. Oh well, at least we'd gotten a break for dinner.

As I sat down he said, "She's back. Hang on... um, sure, no problem... Okay, here she is." He thrust the phone at me. He looked flustered.

"Who is it, Deakins?" I whispered to him, but as I lifted the cell phone to my ear I heard my sister's voice on the other end. Why was Jackie calling my partner? "Hi," I said.

"Hey you," Jackie said, "Sooo... Is there something I should know about you and Bobby?"

"Huh?"

"How come he's answering your phone, hmm?" she asked, but didn't wait for an answer. "And where are you guys? I can hear music. Come on, Alex, did he take you out to dinner?"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," I said, looking at Bobby and trying to guess if she'd said any of this to him. I couldn't tell. "What planet are you calling from? We're on the job, and we stopped to eat."

"Oh." Jackie was disappointed by that explanation – too boring. "But he answered your cell phone. That's kind of personal."

I looked at the phone – it was mine. I remembered giving it to him in the car a while back. "Yeah, well it happens now and then when we're working. Was there some reason you called?"

She sighed, and I had to smile at my sister's romantic imagination. I couldn't blame her for wondering. If Bobby wasn't my partner I might have had similar thoughts. But of course... well, never mind.

Jackie said, "I... heard from the fertility clinic this afternoon."

I pulled the phone tight against my ear. "And?"

After my sister's third miscarriage she was devastated. I did some research on surrogate pregnancy, and for her birthday this year I'd offered to try it. The baby would be hers and Mike's – I'd just be helping to get the kid to a successful delivery.

She said, "I have to go in tomorrow for a blood test. Assuming all these fertility drugs I'm taking are working, the doctor wants to harvest my eggs right away, like tomorrow or the next day."

"Okay, wow," I said. I could feel Bobby looking at me, but I had to keep my eyes down to focus on my sister's voice. My heart beat sped up.

"I know," she said, "and if the, uh, the thing with the embryos is successful..." We both took a deep breath at the same time. I'd also been taking meds for this procedure. This plan was moving from theoretical to actual in a hurry. Jackie continued, "If it is, then they'll do the implant the next day. Alex, can you do that? – can you just come when we need you?"

"Yes, don't worry about that," I said. "It takes a few hours, right?"

I'd planned to take off a half day personal time – or a whole day if necessary – for the implant procedure. Other than checking with the insurance company about coverage, I didn't intend to make any announcement outside the family until I knew I was pregnant.

But I realized now I needed to tell the person sitting across the table from me. Partners are family, after all.

I finished my conversation with Jackie. Bobby was watching quietly, and I knew he was bursting with questions. I took my time putting the phone away in my purse.

"Your sister," he said, "she, her voice sounds like yours. But you talk differently."

"Yeah, she talks a lot faster, and a lot more."

"Her name's Jacqueline?"

I nodded.

"For Jacqueline Kennedy?" he asked. "A lot of girls were named after her in the sixties."

"My Mom said she'd always liked that name anyway," I said. "So... Um, Bobby..." I took a gulp of coffee. "What did Jackie tell you?"

"Just..." He looked at the notes he'd taken, and then back at me. "She has a doctor's appointment tomorrow at ten-thirty. Are you going to drive her there?" He picked up his pen as though he was interviewing a witness.

I gently took away the pen. I set it down, and on impulse I held out both my hands to him. That move sent his curiosity off the charts, but he stayed quiet as he put his hands into mine.

"Bobby," I said, "I need to tell you something, and I just want you to listen, okay?"

His eyes were huge as he nodded. I couldn't help smiling - he looked so cute when he was curious.

.


	4. I Pity The Fool

**I PITY THE FOOL**

_Setting: after S03/E04 But Not Forgotten_

* * *

Eames and I went back to our desks after Isobel Carnicki strolled out of Captain Deakins' office. I'd played up to Isobel, but she hadn't needed persuasion to give us incriminating evidence to arrest her husband Earl for murder. The thing about her that got to me was her cold hatred for him. She'd obviously been nursing her anger for a long time. The look in her eyes was chilling.

A few minutes later the Captain came out of his office toward us. "You know," he said, "you two need to sit down with Carver and go over everything with a fine tooth comb. I'm thinking Isobel might not walk away clean, depending on what she knew and when."

"I'll call him," Eames said, using her desk to push herself slowly to her feet. Her belly was big enough these days to throw her off balance sometimes. I held my breath until she was upright. "And speaking of clean, Bobby, you might want to wash up after holding her hand. Sheesh, I nearly heaved when you did that!"

The Captain smiled. "You feeling okay, Eames? Everything good with the baby?"

"Everything's good. He weighs over two pounds now; heartbeat's strong; he practices kickboxing at the strangest times."

"If you have any problems," Deakins said, "you come to me right away. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," she said. I knew she didn't like being coddled.

The captain looked at me next. "And I expect you to tell me if she's too stubborn to admit her limitations."

Eames frowned and shook her head, but didn't say anything. The captain returned to his office.

She didn't look at me as she stood beside her desk, checking folders and organizing them into a stack. I opened my leather binder to pull out notes on this case. If Eames was mad about the Captain's orders, the best thing was to leave her alone for a while.

When she spoke her voice was low. "I don't want him assuming I'm on the verge of collapse all the time." She kept working, and let her hair swing down to hide her face.

I was pretty sure the Captain didn't assume that, but I stayed quiet.

She slapped down a thick folder onto the pile. "I hope he's watching," she said. "I'm going to let you carry this to the work room."

"You want me to carry you, too?" I asked as I reached for the papers.

She snorted a laugh. "Deakins would have a stroke. And you might have a hernia. The baby weighs two pounds, but I've gained eighteen!"

Eames plus eighteen pounds didn't seem like a challenge, but I just chuckled. As her pregnancy became impossible to ignore, I'd made a point of letting her set the pace for us. At first that was a literal thing – walking only as fast as she did – but it expanded to include leaving for the day earlier, stopping to eat when she was hungry, and even skipping coffee when I was with her.

We both knew it was happening, but we didn't talk about it.

I set the stack on the table inside the visitor office. "Do you want to–" I turned and saw her holding the sides of her belly with a fascinated expression.

"Hey," she said with a big smile, "come here and feel this."

She'd let me feel the baby kick before, so I held out a hand and approached. She guided me to the right spot, and I felt a series of tiny thumps. It wasn't as sharp as the kicks I'd felt before.

"What is that?" I asked, sliding my other hand onto her belly.

"He's got hiccups," she said. "It happened last week, and I asked the doctor about it."

"In the womb?"

"I know, it's funny, isn't it? Oh, there he goes." The movement stopped. "I guess he held his breath and counted to seven."

I leaned down, patted her belly and said, "Good boy," to the baby.

She laughed. Eames has a great laugh.

As I stepped back I saw the Captain and a bunch of our coworkers staring at us through the glass walls. Most of them had silly grins on their faces, but Captain Deakins had his arms crossed and he looked serious.

I shrugged and held up my palms to them. Eames swung around and saw them too, and there were a few laughs. I half expected her to flip them off, but I guess because the Captain was there she just shook her head.

* * *

A few mornings after we handed over all our paperwork on Earl Carnicki to the DA's office, I got to the squad room and saw a cup of tea steeping on Eames' desk, but not Eames herself. I scanned the bullpen and saw her in the Captain's office. The door was closed and they were both seated. When I got close enough to look in, Deakins shook his head at me.

This wasn't good. I went back to my desk.

Finally Eames stalked out of the office and sat down with a huff. I was sure Deakins had put her on desk duty, and I felt a lump in my throat. That meant I had to start working with the temporary partner, whoever that was.

"I'm going to the cafeteria," she said.

Of all the things she might have said at this point, that had to be the last thing I expected. She already had a cup of tea right in front of her.

She stood up and grabbed her coat. "Wait five minutes, and then you come, too. Are you listening?"

"Yes." It finally clicked that she wanted to talk privately. "Five minutes."

Eames looked even angrier by the time I joined her at a back table. I was sure she'd been desked, but we'd both known this was coming, so I didn't understand the shock on her face.

"Eames?" I reached across the table to touch her hand, but she immediately pulled away. "He put you on desk duty?" I asked.

"Yes, but that's not..." She pressed both hands flat on the table and took a deep breath. "I swear, Bobby, all the stress of the job is nothing – it's the stupidity that kills me."

"What happened?"

"Captain says we're too close. To each other. He thinks we've got something going on the side."

I felt my mouth drop open.

Eames continued. "Yes, he really said that – because I let you feel the baby's hiccups the other day."

"But, but, but that was just..." Now I understood her frustration.

"I know!"

I'd occasionally wondered whether Eames and I could make it as a couple, but I knew better than to let personal issues interfere with our MCS partnership. "Eames, we haven't done anything wrong."

"He tried to be all fatherly, but..." Her jaw muscles were clenching. "He also said that if I want to come back from leave as your partner, we can't... can't..." She shook her head and looked at the ceiling. "We can't date while I'm out. He didn't ask if it was true. He just said it has to stop."

"Did you tell him we're not–"

"Of course! So then he said to think of it as a refresher on department policy."

I was angry, but mostly because of the injustice to my partner. "If he thinks that, why didn't he say anything to me?"

"Oh," she said, "your turn is coming."

We gazed at each other for a while, and I could hear the wheels turning in her mind. Captain Deakins' warning might backfire and produce the exact opposite of what he intended.

"Eames," I said, deliberately slowing down my breathing and speaking calmly, "I want us to be partners when you come back from leave. Don't you?"

She frowned. "I know where you're going with this, Bobby, and... yes, I agree. But it burns me that he makes all these assumptions based on... on this kid's hiccups! Oh, geez!" She abruptly stood up.

"Are you okay?" I asked, getting up also.

"It can't be coincidence," Eames said, rubbing her belly. "He knows my moods, and he starts kicking when I'm upset. Sorry, I can't give you a feel this time." She wagged her eyebrows at me suggestively.

We waited for the baby to stop moving, and then headed back to the squad room. The elevator was empty except for us, but even so, we stood at opposite sides of the car.

Just before we reached the eleventh floor, Eames said, "Damn right I'm going to be your partner when I come back!"

.


	5. Cheers

**CHEERS**

_Setting: after S03/E10 F.P.S._

* * *

I must have been dozing, because all of a sudden I saw my partner standing in the doorway of my hospital room, holding a potted flower. The sight of him made me smile.

"Don't stand out there – come on in," I said, waving him inside. He didn't move. "Bobby, I really don't feel up to yelling across the room."

That got him across the threshold and up to the bed. "This is for you." He held out the flower like a kid bringing a corsage for his prom date. "It's a hyacinth."

"Thanks," I said, pointing to the bedside table for him to set it down. I took a deep breath. "It smells nice."

"You can plant it, and it'll bloom every spring."

I didn't make a snide remark about how I kill most plants that enter my house. Bobby looked earnest and happy, and I didn't want to kill the mood. I said, "Thanks. Come on, sit down and stay a while."

"Where's the baby?" Bobby asked, looking around as though he might have overlooked him.

"They'll bring him in from the nursery in a little while – at feeding time."

His eyes darted away, and he looked embarrassed.

"Don't worry," I said. "I'm not breastfeeding. Jonathan's perfectly happy with formula."

"Oh, right." Bobby took off his overcoat, draped it neatly over the chair, and sat down close to the bed.

"My sister usually arrives in time to do it all: feeding, burping, changing." Jackie was practically floating on air with happiness and gratitude. I couldn't help but feel happy for her, too. The doctor had warned me I'd probably go through separation issues or something like that, but for the moment I was in a great mood. I smiled at Bobby again.

He nodded, and leaned a forearm on the bed. "How're you feeling?"

"Sore, but they tell me I'm doing fine. In fact," I said, "I'm supposed to get out of bed every few hours. I've been kind of restless. Do you mind walking me down the hall and back?"

"Uhh..."

I pointed. "Just grab the bathrobe for me."

I couldn't move very fast, but it was an improvement over the first time they forced me to take a walk. At least now I didn't feel like groaning with every step, and I didn't shuffle like a little old lady who needed a walker.

We strolled out into the hallway.

"Which way?" he asked.

I tilted my head to the left. "It goes around in a square. Hope I make it. You might have to steal a wheelchair."

"No problem, Eames," he said, "I'll carry you."

"Okay, but not over your shoulder like a fireman." We both laughed. I was glad I was holding Bobby's arm – not because I was shaky on my feet, but because I'd been a little chilly. His warm body felt nice.

"When will they release you?" he asked.

"Tomorrow morning, thank God. I hate hospitals."

"Hate?"

"Okay, not hate. They're not on my list of favorite places. That better? Plus, I'm looking forward to getting back to my coffee habit. Alcohol, too."

"Mm-hmm."

I'd been hoping Bobby would take the hint and offer to buy me coffee or a drink – both would be even better. But he seemed oblivious.

We reached the first turn. Bobby paused and looked at me. "Keep going?" he asked.

I nodded. "I'm good."

In the final weeks of my pregnancy, when I had to stop going into the squad room, Bobby had made a point of calling me and sending text messages pretty regularly. He even visited me at home once, and we were making a lot of progress as friends. I didn't want to mess up our partnership, but it was nice to feel like we got along well even outside the NYPD. I tried not to think too far beyond that. Deakins could never find out what was going on. And actually, hardly anything was going on!

Talking about work was a safe topic. I asked, "What's happening with the video game guy?"

"His wife got him a lawyer; he made a plea deal with Carver."

"He killed that girl because he thought his buddy wasn't paying enough attention to him?"

Bobby didn't answer right away. We kept up our slow pace, and he finally said, "He, um, he did research on me..."

"On you?"

"Yeah, it wasn't too hard – all those headlines about Croyden, you know."

"Seriously?" Even the mention of that nasty business with Nicole Wallace spiked my blood pressure. I looked up at Bobby, and he shrugged kind of sheepishly.

He said, "He thought... he tried to point me at a former co-worker who, you know... divorce, child support issues..."

That was the exact situation Nicole had used against Bobby, and he'd stepped right into her trap.

"But...?" I prompted him to go on.

"But... I remembered what you said back then about listening, and then I saw right through the smokescreen. I heard your voice in my head, Eames."

Was Bobby joking about hearing voices? I looked up again – sure enough, he was smirking at me! "I can't believe you said that, Bobby!"

We'd made it to the third turn. There were gurneys and wheel chairs and equipment carts lined up in this hallway, which didn't leave much space for side-by-side walking. As we reached the first gurney, Bobby eased his arm around me and held me closer. It was the logical thing to do, or else we'd have to go single file. I wasn't going to complain about the extra body heat, either.

Bobby didn't say anything, but he was holding me pretty close. Maybe all my what-if thinking over the past month hadn't just been from my crazy hormones?

I couldn't think of a thing to say as we slowly moved down the hallway.

We made the final turn, and there was Jackie, jogging toward us from the elevators.

"Hey, Alex!" she called. "Looks like you're feeling better." She nodded to Bobby. "Hi – thanks for dragging her out of that bed." From the look on her face, I knew exactly what my sister was thinking: my partner came to visit me, he had his arm around me, so there had to be something going on between us!

Bobby let go of me, but didn't move away. "Hi, Jackie," he said. "No, she said she needed the walk. Right?" He smiled cheerfully. He had no clue.

"Oh, of course!" Jackie said, and I gave her my most severe will-you-shut-up glare. She just smiled back at me, and then checked her watch. "Did they say when they're bringing down the baby?"

I didn't have to answer, because the elevator doors opened with a ping, and we heard the rolling wheels of baby carts, or whatever they call those things. Jackie forgot everything else for the moment. She rushed into my room to wash her hands, and by the time Jonathan was rolled in she was ready to scoop him up.

Bobby whispered to me, "I should go."

But I caught his arm. "No, you haven't even gotten a good look at him yet. Stay a little – he'll finish off the bottle pretty quickly, and then you can hold him."

I thought Jackie had tuned us out completely, but she heard that last part. Her head snapped around to look at me, and I had to laugh at the panic in her face. Was she worried about germs?

I heaved myself back into bed. "Yeah, you heard me," I said to her. "Hey, Bobby, did I ever tell you about the time Jackie and I fed our kid brother dirt?"

Jackie made a choking sound, and turned to the baby, adjusting the bottle in his mouth and cuddling him closer. Jonathan really was a cute little guy in his light blue cap, wrapped in his yellow receiving blanket.

"Dirt?" Bobby pulled the sheet up over my legs.

"Yep," I said. "Regular old garden dirt. Danny was probably six months or so, and Mom let us feed the baby. Needless to say, she didn't watch as closely as she should have."

"It wasn't my idea!" Jackie said.

Bobby looked delighted. "Eames, Alex – you did it?" He sat down beside my bed.

I shrugged. "At the time, I thought the stuff tasted pretty good. But my point here," I said, nodding at my sister, "is that Danny turned out perfectly healthy, and he's a big strong fireman, so you are going to let Uncle Bobby hold Jonathan, and you're not going to worry about germs."

"I'll wash my hands," Bobby said.

* * *

The red light on my answering machine at home was blinking, but the phone rang before I got around to listening to the messages. I saw the caller ID and picked up. "Hi, Dad," I said.

"Good, you're home," he said. "I wasn't sure when they were going to let you out of the hospital."

"Nine-thirty," I said. "Jackie and Mike brought me home, and they left with the baby, uh, maybe half an hour ago."

"Oh. I called her, too, but I couldn't find any of you at home." He sounded worried.

"Are you okay?" I asked. "Do you need anything?"

"Nah, I'm good," he said, but he didn't sound good.

"I can come over this afternoon." More and more these days Dad let his refrigerator empty out completely before he thought about food shopping. I didn't really want to go out, but it looked like I'd have to. I said, "I'll stop at the grocery on my way."

"No, it's not that," he said. "I've got food." He cleared his throat. "Is, uh, is your partner there with you?"

"Goren? No, why would he be here?" Although... I'd dropped enough hints about coffee that he ought to be on my doorstep with an extra-large extra-dark blend for me.

"Look, Alex, I'm worried about you," Dad said. "You can't be carrying on with Bobby."

"What!"

"I mean it, honey. It's gonna land both of you in trouble."

I raised my eyes to the ceiling and took a deep breath. "Dad, first of all, I'm not carrying on with him. Second–"

"Didn't he come to the hospital to see you?"

"So? My partner visits me in the hospital after I gave birth to your grandson, and you assume that we're... Wait, how do you know who visited me in the hospital!" I was going to have to kill my sister. "Geez, Dad, you're the worst gossip I know!"

"And didn't you tell your sister he was Uncle Bobby to the baby?" Dad obviously had his list of points to make, and nothing I said was going to stop him. He'd probably even written them down.

I was so annoyed I pulled the phone away from my ear for a couple seconds, took a deep breath and paced around a little before I replied. "I cannot believe we're having this conversation. What did it mean when us kids all called your partner Uncle Bill? Huh?"

"That was different," he said. "And before, Bobby was answering your phone for you – how does that look? I know you don't mean anything serious by it, but it's got to stop before Jimmy Deakins finds out."

That threat was meant to scare me, but it made me mad.

"Dad, so help me," I said with my teeth clenched, "if you spread false gossip about your own daughter...!" I had to pause and pace again to keep from cursing. "Listen to me: Nothing is going on between me and Goren. Nothing. We're partners. We're friends. That's it."

"You swear it?"

"Yes, Dad! Cross my heart!"

"If I find out you two are-"

"Goodbye!" I banged the phone down hard.

I was so angry at my father and his ridiculous accusations! I was tempted to call Bobby and invite him over for dinner, just to spite Dad. After a few minutes of stomping around my house I decided that wasn't the best plan. My doctor had recommended that I hold off alcohol for another week, so getting drunk was out, too.

I ended up making myself my first pot of real coffee in nine months. When it was all brewed, I filled my favorite mug and toasted myself. It tasted so good I almost got over Dad's call.

In fact, by the time I was on my second cup I had a good laugh. With that kind of welcome home, I thought, at least I wouldn't need to worry about post-partum depression or separation anxiety or any of the problems my doctor had discussed. I'd be too ticked off at my family to be depressed.

I looked at the hyacinth Bobby had given me – I'd set it on the windowsill above the kitchen sink. I was going to do my best to keep it alive, but God help us if my sister ever found out it was from Bobby.

The phone rang again. If it was my father I was ready to ignore the call. I looked at the ID screen and picked up with a big smile.

"Hey, Eames," Bobby said. "Everything okay?"

.


	6. Over the Line

**OVER THE LINE**

_Setting: after S04/E07 Magnificat_

* * *

Eames was irritated. I only had one glimpse out of the corner of my eye: she and Mr. Carver were watching us from across the courtroom. But I was in the middle of introducing Leanne Colson to my buddy Rodney, who's a children's rights attorney, so I couldn't pay attention to them. Carver was on his own.

Once Mrs. Colson realized she had a chance of gaining guardianship of her grandson, Adam Whitlock, she had a lot of questions for Rodney. It was great to see her sadness about her daughter turn around into eagerness and hope.

The plan to help her claim guardianship had formed as Eames and I vented our frustration about Adam's father. Paul Whitlock wasn't legally answerable for the devastation of his family, but he'd made his wife's life miserable, and had stood back as she sank into depression to the point she attempted suicide, planting a bomb in her own car. If Paul had made even a tiny effort to help Doreen, their other three sons would probably still be alive. In my book that put most of the blame squarely on Paul.

As Mrs. Colson and Rodney kept talking, I glanced over at Eames again. She didn't look angry this time – now she was kind of amused. Our eyes met for a second, and she arched her eyebrows. I tilted my head, inviting her to join us, but she cut her eyes over at Carver. Now I was really curious to find out what was going on.

When I looked over the third time, Carver was leaving, and Eames was annoyed again. Whatever the problem was, she shook it off and smiled as she stepped up next to me.

I shifted a couple inches to expand our little group for Eames, and just barely stopped myself from putting my arm around her waist. It was completely spontaneous. My hand moved toward her, and I panicked and ended up scratching my neck in a really clumsy way.

Where did that come from? She'd kill me if I tried that move on her! Fortunately no one noticed, and our conversation went on.

People were filtering into the courtroom for the next hearing, so we had to get out. Rodney didn't really need me and Eames any more, but he invited us to meet with him and Mrs. Colson at his office the next day. He offered to drive Mrs. Colson to her hotel.

I was shaking hands with Rodney when Eames' phone started buzzing in her pocket. She must have set it to vibrate for court; she turned away to answer it.

I waited for her in the hallway.

When she came out, she grinned at me. "What was that smooth move back there?" she asked.

My heart sank – of course she'd noticed. "Uh, just, nothing... I wasn't..." I had no idea how to explain it to her. I shrugged.

Eames laughed lightly.

Time to change the subject. I asked, "What did Mr. Carver say to make you angry?"

"Oh." She frowned. "You'd think after all these years working together," she said, shaking her head.

"What?"

"Umm, you know what?" she said, shoving her hands into her pockets. "How about I buy you a drink?"

"Don't we need to get back to One PP?"

"Nah. The call was from Captain Deakins. I gave him the update on the Whitlocks, and he said we're done for the day. You want to go?"

"Sure, good idea," I said, and looked at her closely. "Is there a problem with Carver?"

She tsked. "Not really, but... let's get that drink."

* * *

"Here's my point," Eames said. "Why would Carver be surprised that you had a good idea? Calling in your lawyer friend is a great idea, actually. There's no way Paul Whitlock should have custody of Adam. But Carver, he just..." We were side-by-side at the bar, and she leaned into my arm as she spoke. "Think about it, Bobby."

"I generally don't think about Carver," I replied. "Outside of work."

We were on our second drink. I still had enough self-control to keep from putting my arm around her – but if we had a third round I was pretty sure what would happen.

"Funny," she said. "But really... He was totally shocked when I told him who Rodney was. Was it so impossible that you'd do something nice for Grandma?"

I smiled and ran a finger around the rim of my glass.

"How many times has he been suspicious of us?" she asked, patting my elbow. "Mostly you, but both of us. How many times?"

"Mmm, a lot. I haven't counted."

"Right, a lot. He tilts his head down and looks at us over his glasses – you know that look." Eames did a good impression of Carver's severe stare. "Any time we use a perfectly legal trick or... or..."

"Or alternative method?" I said, and finished my drink.

"Yes, alternative," she said. "Thank you. When we get the confession, Mr. Carver is there to take the win."

The slight change in her speech had begun. It was interesting that she still seemed sober, but her words had a different sound, a different tone.

"Well," I said, "it's his job..."

"No, see, because then he shakes his finger at us for not coloring inside the lines." Eames sniffed. "He wants it both ways."

The bartender paused in front of us and gestured to our empty glasses in a silent question.

I shook my head and looked at Eames. "Ginger ale," she said. I asked for water.

She sat up straight again and looked around the bar while we got our new drinks. "Let's sit over there," she said, pointing to a small round table out of the way.

I paid the rest of our tab and followed her. "You don't need to go?" I asked as I sat down. Not that I wanted to leave – I was happy to stay here with her as long as she liked.

She shook her head. "I was going to visit my nephew," she replied, "but my sister sent a text that Mike's parents were coming, so... I'll see him tomorrow."

I nodded. "You can have him all to yourself."

"Damn right." Eames sipped her ginger ale. "Is it just me, or is he a really cute baby?"

I knew the correct answer. "Cute baby." She gave me a big smile, scooted her chair around the table and opened her phone to show me pictures of Jonathan. I let my arm rest on the back of her chair.

She talked about her nephew for a while, and I was surprised when she returned to the topic of Mr. Carver. I knew the alcohol was wearing off because she'd gone back to her normal speech pattern.

"Eames," I said, "why does it bother you that he gives us a hard time? He's been like that as long as I've known him. And I've, uh, you know, colored outside the lines a lot." We were still sitting close, although I'd taken my arm off her chair. It was comfortable this way. We didn't have to raise our voices to hear each other.

She was quiet. I expected she'd shrug it off and decide it was time to leave.

"Sometimes I get mad at you, too," she said. "...Like with John Tagman."

I looked away. She'd given me the cold shoulder for a solid week after that horrible case. There was no outcome that could have been satisfying. I still thought I was right to let Tagman express his remorse – it wasn't a trick – but I was afraid that anything I said now would set her off.

She touched my arm. "Don't worry. I'm not bringing it up to argue."

That was a relief.

"See," she said, "I realized if I complain about Mr. Carver – you know, taking the good results and criticizing the methods... well, I shouldn't do the same thing myself."

"You're not like that, Eames!" I'd never thought she was using me to succeed or get ahead. When it came to that, people had already told us I was probably holding her back.

She faced me more fully. "I have to be honest with you, and if it comes out as criticism, it's just... how I see things. That's how I am."

"I know that, and, and, it's a great thing about you."

Here eyebrows arched up. "And..." she said with a smirk. "Next time you'll do things my way?"

We both laughed, and I was tempted to kiss her – just on the cheek. However, her phone rang.

Eames checked the ID and flipped it open. "Hey, Jackie."

I started to get up to give her privacy for the call with her sister, but she caught my arm and shook her head.

"Yeah, I got it," Eames said to her sister. "No problem for tomorrow... I had the phone turned off because we were in court... No, we didn't have to. It was a sentencing... Right now? We're at a bar halfway between the court and One PP..." She rolled her eyes and made a mock exasperated face. "With Goren, of course... Because we were thirsty after sitting in court all afternoon."

Her expression became darker; her exasperation was real now. "Jackie," she said, "I'm not going to talk about this with you now... Yes... Yeah, oh."

Jackie was obviously asking about me. I was amused at Eames' attempt to hide it. It was her own fault – she could have let me leave the table.

The sisters' conversation shifted to the baby, and Eames talked cheerfully for a couple minutes. "I'll see you tomorrow," she said. "I have a bunch of coupons for diapers... Okay, bye."

As she hung up I looked her right in the face. "Soo... What did she say about me?" I asked.

Eames shook her head. She was embarrassed. She finally said, "My sister has been sitting home too long with no company but the baby and soap operas. She's imagining things. That's all I'm going to say."

"Oh, you mean imagining that we," I said, waving a finger between me and Eames. "That we're... seeing each other?" In my mind I recalled Jackie's expression at the hospital after the baby was born, and suddenly I had a new understanding of her words then.

I'd hardly ever seen Eames blush. Her cheeks went bright pink – it was a good look for her – and she turned away from me. Obviously, the topic hit a raw nerve for her.

It must have been the alcohol in my system that let me bypass common sense, which told me to shut up. Instead I asked, "Would that be bad, if we were? ...Seeing each other?"

Before I could second-guess myself, I leaned in and kissed her cheek.

Oh.

She completely froze.

I'd crossed the line. That wasn't what she wanted. Or was it? I couldn't read her expression, so I sat back and waited.

Finally she cleared her throat. "Have I thought about..." She paused for a deep breath. "...about us seeing each other? Honestly? Yes, I have."

I felt a pop of anticipation, but it faded quickly. I'd been teasing. If Eames were to say she wanted to date me, I'd probably panic.

She continued, "Bobby, we have a good thing going in Major Case. I don't want to screw it up."

"Eames, I'm sorry-" I began, but she held up a hand to stop me.

"But I also don't want us to feel weird or uncomfortable with each other," she said. "This..." She touched her cheek where I'd kissed her. "This isn't a problem, as long as we understand..."

I nodded. "Where the line is."

She grinned and held out her hand to shake. It wasn't exactly what I wanted, but I knew she was right. It had to be enough, at least for now.

.


	7. Adrenaline Rush

**ADRENALINE RUSH**

_Setting: end of S04/E13 Stress Position_

* * *

I don't know what scared me more: the thought Bobby might be dead inside the Brooklyn prison, with me unable to reach him, or the realization that I'd experienced this exact same pit-of-the-stomach terror once before. It was when my husband lay dying in the hospital.

The feeling didn't make any sense, but I couldn't deny it. I couldn't stop it.

Bobby had gone in with Mike Logan to bring out Logan's girlfriend, Gina, who worked in the dispensary. Standing in the freezing cold outside the locked-down prison, with the alarm blaring through the darkness, my uncontrollable shivering was partly from cold and partly from fear.

It was a good thing Mr. Carver was there to lecture the guard on the other side of the fence about the power of subpoenas and his duty to let us in. I'd have had trouble unlocking the muscles of my jaw.

I tried to stop imagining Bobby laid out on the coroner's stainless steel table. I tried to convince myself that he was alive and unhurt. I told myself over and over that this was not like Joe's shooting and death. In my mind I cursed Captain Deakins for not letting me go me go in with my partner.

Finally the alarm stopped. The guard opened the gate for me and Mr. Carver, but wouldn't let us approach the building until he got the all-clear from his counterpart inside.

Everyone stopped talking. The silence was just as disturbing as the noise. What was happening in there?

I was getting ready to charge the entrance when I saw a seam of light as the heavy metal door slowly opened.

The first person to step out was Bobby! His head turned left and right until he saw me.

"Thank God!" Mr. Carver said.

I would have said the same, but I suddenly felt dizzy with relief. I spread my feet a little wider and took deep breaths, keeping my eyes on Bobby. He seemed uninjured.

The door opened further, and Mike Logan and Gina emerged. They all looked stunned but otherwise okay.

Suddenly there was a rush of EMTs and police officers toward the prison. Bobby and Logan spoke to them, pointing back inside and giving directions. Mr. Carver's entourage of attorneys flooded in next, armed with subpoenas.

I finally pulled myself together enough to move. Carver reached them first. "Detectives," Carver said, "I've never been so happy to see you. What happened in there?"

Logan answered, "It's those four guards. They've been keeping the ghost prisoners separate, torturing them. They killed Kenna to keep him from talking. Those SOBs locked the place down, and were going after Gina if we hadn't showed up – and if Goren hadn't talked them down." He put his arm around Gina.

Carver continued to question them. They confirmed what we'd hoped for before going in: three of the guards still had enough of a conscience to do the right thing. With persuasion from Bobby they'd abandoned their ringleader.

As I listened I stayed focused on Bobby. He was agitated: he looked like he needed to be pacing. That was normal for him after a tough situation; this had been tough times ten. I was sure he'd been cool and confident while he was reasoning with the thug guards. He was good at keeping all his fear or anger inside. Now that the crisis was past it was coming to the surface painfully – that was normal for any cop.

But the difference this time was that I was an emotional wreck on the inside. On the outside I hoped I was keeping it together. Once or twice I thought Bobby could see through my mask.

We all watched as the secret prisoners were escorted out, wrapped in blankets against the cold. Some of them looked like skeletons, and many were limping. Could anything make up for what had been done to them? At least they were alive, and they'd get to testify against the men who'd tortured them, who were led out in handcuffs.

Bobby was safe, but there was still a knot of stress in my chest. I needed to get alone with him so we could talk. From the way he kept looking at me, I thought he wanted the same thing.

Two minutes after Logan left with Gina, Carver's people started bringing out boxes of paper records. I figured Carver would stay and oversee the operation, but he left one of his deputies in charge and asked to come back to One PP with us.

So much for getting alone with Bobby.

* * *

"We're standing right outside your office," Mr. Carver said into his cell phone, talking to Captain Deakins. He had a finger pressed against the other ear, even though the MCS squad room was quiet at eleven o'clock at night. In fact, the place was deserted. "Albany has suddenly shown an interest in the case... Yes, and I fully expect to hear that the federal government is interested, too... Oh, I will. No question about it," he said. "I spoke to Arthur Branch, and he agrees. The prison records are on their way to his office, and that's where they'll stay... All right. I'll tell them."

Carver snapped his phone shut and looked at us. "Captain Deakins will be here in twenty minutes." He checked his watch. "I need to make sure those boxes are secure." He opened his phone again and began dialing as he wandered into one of the glass-walled visitor offices. He closed the door behind him and sat at the table.

I said, "I noticed Carver forgot to mention that Logan bolted. The Captain'll love that."

"He'll turn up." Something about the way Bobby rolled his shoulders in a tired stretch sparked off a flashback of my panicky feeling from earlier. Bobby hadn't spoken much since leaving the prison, and now I wondered if those guards had hurt him after all, and he'd been hiding it.

"Are you okay?" I asked. I didn't care that my voice sounded squeaky with worry.

"Yeah," he said with another shrug. "It's just... finally catching up to me, I guess."

His answer didn't do a thing to relieve my concerns. I quickly glanced at the office where Mr. Carver sat – he was deep in a phone discussion, off in his own world.

I caught Bobby's wrist and pulled him toward the interrogation rooms.

"Eames? What...?" He didn't resist – though by that point I had enough adrenaline in my system to overpower him if he did.

I swung open the nearest door and led him in. I didn't bother closing the door before I grabbed both of his arms. Physical touch accelerated my anxiety, and suddenly my delayed reaction was out of control.

"Did they hurt you in there? Don't lie to me!"

Bobby shook his head. "No, I told you. They were-"

I shook him. "I know what you said, but you look... you look like you're hurt. Are you? You have to tell me!"

"No, I'm not – honestly." He leaned down to look at me closely, and his hands touched my elbows. "What happened? Are you okay?"

"No, dammit, I'm not okay!" I yelled. I immediately dropped the volume on my voice, but not the intensity. "I should have been in there with you. Partners are supposed to stay together. Instead, I'm in the dark, locked out, while you..." My throat closed up.

Bobby's mouth opened, but no sound came out. I gripped his arms even tighter.

I cleared my throat and continued, "You could have been killed in there, and all I could do was stand around in with my stupid hands in my stupid pockets!" I was back to yelling.

"I didn't..." Bobby was staring at me with a shocked expression. "I, I missed having you there. Logan didn't, didn't pick up on my... you know, how we..."

I glared at him, although I knew full well it hadn't been his decision to go in with Logan.

"For a few minutes," he said slowly, and I saw he was remembering. "When the alarm... when the gate locked, for a little while it was... it was..."

"Dangerous," I said, my voice rough with emotion. "Off-the-chart dangerous, and I wasn't there to have your back, Bobby! What if it all went south? I'm supposed to..." I couldn't go on. I shook him again, hard, and my fingernails dug into his arms; even through his suit coat he had to feel their sharpness.

I knew I was going to cry. I didn't want Bobby to see me lose it, but running away would be cowardly, and with my luck I'd bump right into Carver. The best way to hide was to move even closer, so I hugged him, tilting my face downward against his chest.

His arms closed around me. For a while we were both really tense, and I simply concentrated on getting my tears under control - unsuccessfully. But then I felt the warmth of his body, and I relaxed a little. He began to rub my back and shoulders slowly, and all of a sudden I had a totally different emotional problem going on!

Instead of unstoppable fear, this time it was desire that took over my feelings.

"I'm sorry," Bobby whispered. He sounded as traumatized as I was.

Maybe I should have backed off right then, but I leaned into him even more.

How did we get to this point? I'd come frighteningly close to losing him, and this mutual comfort was a natural response to the whole situation. That was logical. I didn't analyze myself any further – I definitely didn't want to probe the comparison to my husband. No, for now I'd just enjoy the relief of having my partner back alive and well. We'd sort out the feelings later.

I patted Bobby's back, and was just getting ready to look up at him when I heard a footstep in the hallway.

Oh no.

We jumped apart, no doubt looking completely guilty. Bobby's back had been to the open doorway, so I saw first – it was Captain Deakins, and I could tell he'd seen plenty.

Damn. Hadn't Carver said twenty minutes? My face had to be a puffy, teary wreck.

There was a long, uncomfortable silence as the captain braced a hand on his hip, rubbed his forehead and looked down at the floor. "I'm choosing to believe this is a release of tension," he said, "or something like that. Nothing else is going to happen." He pivoted toward the squad room. "Nothing. Am I understood?"

"Yes, sir," we both said.

"Good." Deakins strode away. He called back to us, "My office. Now."

We stood there side by side for a few more seconds. This was my fault. I was the one who freaked out.

Bobby said, "Sorry."

"Me, too. It, umm..." I sniffled and wiped at my eyes.

He fished around in his pockets and gave me his handkerchief.

I managed a chuckle. "I can imagine how fabulous I look right now. I'd better hit the ladies' room."

I felt his fingers on my arm as I moved away. I paused – just out of reach. We couldn't take a chance on Deakins returning.

"You do," Bobby said, shuffling his feet sheepishly. "Look fabulous. All the time."

I pressed the handkerchief to my cheek. "No, don't," I said. "We can't." I ran for the ladies' room.

So much for sorting out our feelings.

.


	8. Buzz

**BUZZ**

_Setting: after S05/E08 In The Wee Small Hours_

* * *

"Earth to Eames!"

I looked to my left: Logan had a devilish grin on his face. He must have been calling my name for a while. I'd been staring down the hallway of the court building, although the person I wanted to see was long gone.

"What's your problem," I said, frowning at him.

"Uhh, no problem," he said. "Not now, anyway – case closed, right?"

"Right. Closed."

I should have been relieved that it was over. It took four detectives working overtime for weeks, but we'd revealed the actual sequence of events around the murder of the high school girl from Iowa. In the process, a judge's family and career had completely unraveled. That part wasn't really unusual – how many times have we seen that murder devastates the families of both victim and perp.

But this wasn't anything like a usual case. On his way down the drain, Judge Garrett did his best to bring down Logan, Carolyn Barek, Bobby and me along with him. His attacks were desperate and contemptible – he could have caused a lot of damage.

Could have caused? Could have? Standing outside the courtroom, I wondered how much damage Garrett did cause me and my partner. My stomach turned again.

I should have expected to be hit – but an ambush on the witness stand? When Garrett's lawyer made me read the transfer request I'd written more than four years ago, I must have looked like a deer in the headlights. How on earth did Garrett get hold of that letter? I needed to have a conversation with Captain Deakins.

"So, Eames," Logan said, loosening his tie. "Barek says she knows a great bar in Brooklyn. You in?"

I wanted to chase my partner and apologize to him again. Bobby had been kind and understanding about the nasty letter – much kinder than I deserved, much more understanding than I would have been if the situation was reversed. But he'd walked away, which left me wondering how he really felt.

I shrugged and said, "I don't know..."

"Come on, you need to unwind after that..." Logan jerked his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the courtroom. "...that inquisition. We all need it."

"Mmm..." I wasn't going to be able to unwind if I didn't clear the air between me and Bobby.

"This is just for us – the four of us," Logan said. "Goren said he'd meet us there. You can come with me and Barek."

It wasn't exactly what I wanted, but if it gave me another chance to tell Bobby how sorry I was...

"Okay," I said on a sigh. "Are you the designated driver, or is Carolyn?"

Logan snorted. "That would be the motorman on the J line. Leave the car at One PP."

* * *

"Right up to the end," Carolyn said, "I was feeling sorry for the mother. You know, putting up with her husband's infidelity, watching her son try to emulate his father's sexual conquests..."

Carolyn was sitting next to Bobby, across from me and Logan in a booth, and she kept leaning into Bobby. She did it every time she spoke, and then she'd look up at him, like she wanted to impress him or make sure he agreed. I didn't know if that was just the way she acted after a few drinks, or if she was coming on to my partner, or both. Either way, it was starting to bug me.

Bobby didn't seem bothered. I knew he wasn't all the way drunk; he was a little out of focus, quieter than normal, and relaxed. Fortunately he didn't avoid looking at me, and he didn't seem upset with me, which was a huge relief. I still wanted a chance to talk with him alone.

Logan said, "She was going to sit there and let one of them go down for Bethany Lunden's murder. I thought my mother was a winner..." He took a long gulp of his beer.

"All those years of humiliation," Bobby said. "She finally reached the last straw... her breaking point."

Carolyn leaned against him again. Seriously? Was she trying to sit in his lap?

I said, "You know, I'd have expected she'd take it out on Garrett himself, and not the girl he'd just abused."

Logan tapped my arm. "Good point, Eames. I'd prefer to investigate that murder over the one we got. Hey, Barek," he said, "if you're trying to get out to go to the bathroom, you're not going to push Goren out of your way like that."

I couldn't help laughing along with Logan.

Bobby blinked and turned toward her. "Uhh, sorry, did you want to...?" He started to slide out of the booth seat.

Logan and I laughed even harder. Even Carolyn laughed – and she finally sat up straight.

"Sorry about that," she said. "I get a little off-balance when I drink. But now that you mention it..." She slid out. "Come on, Alex. If you stay, Mike will start asking what women talk about in the Ladies' Room."

"Aww, now we'll never know!" Logan said.

I elbowed him and he let me out as well. As I stood up I said, "No mystery. We get phone numbers off the bathroom walls, and write new ones. You should expect a few calls soon."

When we got back I took the seat next to Bobby. He looked at me a little curiously, but didn't say anything. Carolyn didn't seem to care, so maybe I'd been imagining her coming on to Bobby.

"One more round?" Logan asked.

"I'd better stop," Carolyn said, shaking her head. "Otherwise I might not hear the alarm clock in the morning." I noticed she didn't show any sign of leaning now that she was next to her own partner. Busted.

"I'm in," I said, and looked up at Bobby. He nodded, and Logan waved for the waiter.

* * *

We broke up the party before it got too late. The captain hadn't given us any time off, so we all had to be at our desks the next day.

The cool air on the sidewalk outside felt good, but I was still pretty buzzed. I'd drunk more than usual. I hoped I'd sober up on the subway ride back to Manhattan. Bobby was watching me carefully, and I knew he was wondering if I was steady on my feet.

"I'll ride back with you, Eames," Bobby said out of nowhere. The rest of us all turned to him in surprise, and he continued quickly. "...because Barek..." He gestured to Carolyn. "You live nearby."

"Do I?" She tilted her head at him, which reminded me of Bobby's head-tilt.

I felt a giggle coming on, so I coughed.

"Well..." Bobby waved an arm toward the bar's entrance. "You recommended this place, and they seemed to know you..."

"Uhh, yeah," Carolyn said, nodding. "Yes, you're right." She looked at me. "He never turns it off?"

"If there's a switch, I haven't found it," I said, and immediately realized how suggestive that sounded.

Logan nearly fell down, and we all ended up laughing like crazy.

Bobby was the first to catch his breath. He said, "So, Logan, maybe you want to... um, make sure Barek gets home okay, and that's... that's, that's... I'll just go with Eames to One PP."

"Bobby," I said, "you don't have to go all the way to Manhattan and then come all the way back." But I didn't say it with any force, because I'd rather not make the trip on my own when I wasn't quite sober.

Plus, if he came with me I'd have my chance to explain that stupid transfer request.

* * *

Bobby and I got onto a subway car that was mostly empty. I waited till the train was away from the station, and then turned toward him.

I said, "That letter..." I saw he was going to brush off my apology, so I touched his shoulder. "Let me just finish, Bobby, and then we don't have to bring it up again if you don't want, okay?"

"'Kay."

It would be easier to say my piece without staring him in the face, so I sat straight in the seat. We were side by side – although not too close – facing across the car as it bumped along.

"I never filed that request," I said. "Not officially. I handed it to Deakins, but he persuaded me to give it – us – more time. I honestly forgot about it. I have no idea how Garrett's people got a copy. I'm so sorry, Bobby."

"You don't need to apologize. I'm not surprised you wrote it," he said. "I mean, I pushed the limits all the time, and we were butting heads a lot at first. I thought... a couple times I thought you were ready to walk out, or kick me out."

"Well, I got over that hissy fit a long time ago."

He turned and flashed a grin at me. "So... you acquired a taste for me?"

I guess I had more alcohol in my system than I realized, because that comment set me off laughing helplessly. I must have looked like a junior higher.

The closest people to us in the subway car were three young Indian women – probably college students. They glanced at us and went back to whispering to each other.

A kid down at the far side of the car moved to a seat close to the girls. He had the standard uniform of losers: black hoodie, black ball cap worn sideways, and cargo pants three sizes too big, ready to fall down. He couldn't have been older than twenty.

"Hey, pretty ladies," he said to the girls, smiling and showing off a gold tooth-cap. "You havin' fun tonight?"

The girls gave him cold looks and turned to each other again, but he kept talking, hitting on them. Bobby and I watched, ready to intervene if the kid got too aggressive.

Two ladies a few seats away clearly had the same instinct. One of them called to the kid, "Hey punk, you even stupider than you look, if you can't see they ain't interested!" She and her friend looked like they were on their way into the city to night shift jobs.

"I ain't talkin' to you, Mami," the kid said. "Me and these ladies, we just havin' a conversation, right?" He moved one seat closer to the girls.

The girls looked worried now. I called out to the kid. "Hey, time for you to move away – beat it."

He looked over at me and flashed his gold grin again. "Okay, sure. Don't worry, I got time for you too, beautiful." He hopped to the seat directly across from me. "We got a understandin' goin' on here."

I stared at him as though he was from outer space. Was this idiot trying to hit on me?

The woman called, "Your face is gonna understand pain! Don't you see her boyfriend sittin' right there?" She and her friend chuckled together.

Bobby shifted his feet, but I patted his knee to let him know I had it under control. This kid was too dumb to be true.

I already had my hand around my detective shield in my pocket. "Do you understand this?" I asked as I held it out toward him.

"Or this?" Bobby added, showing his shield, too.

The punk's reaction was predictable and funny. He suddenly turned into the most innocent, polite, best-behaved citizen of New York. He hitched up his pants and decided he wanted to ride in a different car. The two ladies had a good laugh, and the girls thanked us as they got off at the next stop.

Bobby rested his arm across my shoulders, and I made myself comfortable against his side. Within a minute my mind went back to that awful moment on the witness stand, and to my apology. Our discussion had been interrupted by the punk. I wanted to answer Bobby's question, even though he'd asked it teasingly.

"Bobby," I said quietly, and he turned to look at me. "I'm glad we're partners. I have acquired... you know, acquired a taste for you."

He nodded and slowly leaned toward me. It took me a second to realize he was going to kiss me! Well, what kind of response did I expect? In another second I leaned toward him, too.

We didn't get too intense, but we let it stretch into a long, sweet kiss. After we parted, I rested against him again. For the rest of our ride we didn't speak; Bobby kissed me a few more times.

The whole thing was a dream. We never acted like this, but somehow it was familiar.

When we reached our stop I felt like the alcohol was out of my system, but a cup of coffee would be a good idea before driving. As we walked to a donut shop within sight of the subway exit, Bobby's hand rested on my shoulder. I touched his fingers.

We sat down inside the shop, across from each other, and when I looked at him I knew the moment had passed – we were back to being cops. Partners and friends, but cops first of all.

It was just as well. Jackie always smiled and waggled her eyebrows anytime I talked about Bobby. My dad still nagged me now and then about the dangers of "carrying on" with my partner. All he had to do was talk to one of his retired cop buddies, and it would reach Deakins' ears in no time.

But still... Kissing Bobby had been easy. He was the most comfortable, most compatible person I'd known since...

No. I shook off that thought. The last time I compared him to Joe, we ended up getting a lecture from Deakins. We can't go there again.

Partner. Partner. Partner.

.


	9. In The Gap

**IN THE GAP**

_Setting: after S05/E21 On Fire_

* * *

"We should track down the rest of those email threads," I said.

"Bobby, he's not going to change his mind," Eames said, and there it was again – her eyes got all shiny with tears. She looked away and blotted at her eyes with a napkin.

I had to take a few deep breaths, too. At least we weren't sitting in the squad room.

Captain Deakins had said we were the first to know of his resignation from NYPD, and then he'd kicked us out of his office. He told us to get back to work, but it was impossible. We sat at our desks for maybe five minutes doing absolutely nothing, and then Eames dragged me out of One PP to the nearest restaurant within walking distance – a Chinese place we both liked.

She'd asked for the table farthest to the back; she must have known we'd end up like this. The waiter had handed us menus and left a pot of hot tea and two small cups.

I cleared my throat and hoped my voice wouldn't break. "I know, but... um..." I coughed again. "It's better if we know all the players in this, uh..."

"Set-up," she said. "Railroading. Throwing under the bus. Gas-lighting. Stabbing in the back." She got angrier with each term. "You think they might come after us, too?"

I answered quietly. "I don't think it's likely, but it's better to know."

Eames stood, and for half a second I thought she was leaving. Instead, she shoved her chair ninety degrees around the tiny square table closer to me. As she sat down she pointed at my leather folder.

"Is it in there?" she asked. "The email stuff?"

If she wanted to get to work right away, that was fine. I set it on the table between us, but just then the waiter rolled the dim sum cart to our table.

She tapped the folder. "We can do this later."

We each chose a few of the small dishes from the cart, and the waiter arranged them in front of us. Eames could usually demolish a good number of dumplings, but it wasn't long before she set down her fork.

"Two things bother me the most," she said, and tossed the hair back from her face. "There's the unfairness, the, the..."

"The injustice," I added quietly.

"Yes. For all the people in the NYPD who actually deserve to be pushed into early retirement... It's insane."

"The Captain doesn't want to drag anybody else down."

"I know," she said, "but are there really any innocent bystanders any more?" She took a careful sip of tea. "The second thing is kind of selfish, but I dread getting used to a new captain, you know?"

"Oh, a new captain," I said. I hadn't thought that far ahead yet. "How soon?"

She shrugged. "No idea. They might send an interim."

For some reason, her comment spawned a completely different idea. I froze as I was reaching for another dumpling with my chopsticks.

Of course Eames noticed. "What?" she asked.

I shouldn't have answered. It was usually dangerous to share spur-of-the-moment impulses.

Instead, I said, "If we don't have a captain for a while, no one will care if we, um, if you and I... go out. Deakins won't care."

She stared at me, and for a few seconds I couldn't tell if she was interested or angry. But then she grinned and laughed.

"You are such an idiot, Bobby! Here I am, crying over Captain Deakins, and all of a sudden you've got me thinking about what shoes to wear!"

I took that as a Yes, and moved my arm to the back of her chair, which made her laugh again. "What kind of shoes?" I asked. "Do you want to go dancing?"

"I'm too short for you," she said, but she looked like she wanted to go.

I let my hand rest on her shoulder and she leaned closer. I said, "No, we're just right for each other – it'll be perfect."

She shook her head, but she was happy now. "Okay," she said. "We'd better do this soon, because once the new captain comes, all bets are off. Thursday night good for you?"

The only thing I ever had on my schedule was my weekly visit with Mom, and that wasn't on Thursday night. "It's great," I said. "Can I pick you up?" I stole a quick kiss.

She smiled, but stopped me when I tried for a second kiss. "No. You tell me where, and I'll meet you. We can't get caught," she said, "especially by my family. I mean it. My sister has these ideas... Nobody can know."

"Who would I tell?" I asked.

"Whom," she said, and leaned in for another kiss.

This day had suddenly given me hope where I never expected it.

.


	10. Without Words

**WITHOUT WORDS**

_Setting: after S06/E03 Siren Call_

* * *

Eames said something to me. I heard her voice, but the words didn't register.

I turned toward her as she drove. She looked as stunned as I felt. I didn't reply, and it didn't seem to matter to her. I went back to staring straight ahead.

Even in this numb state I could analyze myself. I knew why I was so shaken by Ray Wisnesky. I'd sensed it almost from the start. First, there was the similarity of his wife's illness to my mother's – I couldn't think of him impassively. Then there was Eames' recent kidnapping and torture. Neither of us had recovered; I was hyper-aware of any danger to her. I probably should have gone to a counseling session, too.

We're not supposed to let an investigation become personal. Technically, Eames and I did the right things and we got to the truth, but everything felt personal. Painful. Ray's suicide completed the destruction of his family; his young daughter Emily would soon be left alone.

"Bobby?"

I realized the car wasn't moving. Eames had pulled into a parking area – we were at the shady edge of the lot, farthest from a strip of shops. There was some kind of playground right ahead of us.

"I needed to stop," she said. From the way she was gazing at me, I knew she was worried.

I wasn't in the mood for discussion.

She turned off the engine. It was a warm day; even in the shade the car heated up quickly. I opened my door and set a foot outside. I glanced back at Eames. She got out, too, and pointed to the playground, which was empty. There were a few seats along the side, and we headed there.

For a while we simply sat on a bench, listening to the sounds of passing cars and voices drifting over from the strip mall behind us. I didn't want to talk or even think about anything.

Eames' phone rang in her pocket. She checked the caller ID. "It's the Captain," she said, frowning. "Great." She looked exhausted.

I reached over and took the phone. "I'll tell him... Yeah, Goren."

Captain Ross said, "I heard about Wisnesky. What the hell happened?"

I resisted the urge to respond that if he knew about Wisnesky, he didn't need to ask what happened. Ross stepped right into these obvious inconsistencies a lot. I peeked over at Eames – she was still worried, still weary. For her sake I needed to keep it courteous.

I quietly answered, "He asked one of his fellow cops to cuff his hands in front. When they got outside Wisnesky grabbed his gun. It was over in a couple seconds."

The captain asked about our interview at the house. When I told him about Wisnesky pointing a gun at himself and us, Ross toned down his hostility.

He asked, "Were either of you hurt? Is Eames okay?"

"We're okay. He surrendered to us, but then we were forty, fifty feet away when he, uh... shot himself," I replied. "We weren't injured."

"Good job on talking him down, Goren," Ross said. "It's... there was nothing more you could have done."

Really? Maybe I could have warned that other officer about Wisnesky's history with holstered guns being snatched. Hadn't the young guy known? I sighed. "Thanks."

Ross said, "I'll deal with the locals. You and Eames were acting on my orders. Don't give them any statement without my say-so."

"Yes, sir." None of the cops or family had paid any attention to us. We'd left as the ambulance screamed into the driveway.

I hung up and told Eames what he'd said.

She looked up at the sky and shook her head. "I bet they find a way to make Officer Wisnesky the victim and Major Case the heavies. Not that I care at the moment."

I stretched my arms out on either side and let my fingers touch her shoulder.

I asked, "What do you care about at the moment?"

"You." I hadn't expected such a quick, intense answer. She said, "I know I wasn't on my game..."

"No, Alex–"

"I wasn't. Not a hundred percent. Don't bother denying it." She touched my hand as it lay on her shoulder. "You had to pick up the slack."

"It's, it's what we do for each other."

She looked up at me. "When you were in that room with him..."

I'd known she was just on the other side of the flimsy wooden door. With Wisnesky waving his gun around, she'd hardly been safer than I was. I pressed more firmly on her shoulder.

I said, "I thought he would want to spare his wife and Emily."

"Not him," Alex said, shaking her head. "This guy made the wrong choice at every step – with Ashley, with Jason Raines, with his partner, his wife... Not once did we see Wisnesky do a selfless thing. I was..." She took a deep breath. "He wanted to kill you and himself. He would have done it. And..." I felt her trembling. "...and there wasn't a damn thing I could do to help you."

We moved toward each other at the same moment. I wrapped my arms around her as she tucked her head under my chin.

This was another reason why this investigation had become so unnerving: as my partner and I grew closer it was much harder to see each other in danger. Walking in on Wisnesky was the worst possible circumstance.

I pressed my mouth against her hair and whispered, "You did help me. You –"

Her fist thumped against my chest. "Cut the crap, Bobby. I barely kept it together enough to do the job." She pressed her head against me. "I hate that I let myself feel so afraid."

I rubbed her back and shoulders. "I was afraid, too – for you," I said. "The thought of losing you... it scares me. I'm not used to feeling so, so..."

"I know," Alex replied in a slightly muffled voice. "It used to be easy to shut off the emotions, but now… I'm glad you're alive. Thank God we're both alive."

Yes. We were alive. A few months ago those words wouldn't have affected me the way they did now. My heart leapt into my throat.

When she pulled back a little to look at me, I didn't hesitate – I kissed her. In no time at all her arms were around my neck, and the emotions I'd been trying to block came rushing to the surface.

I'd kissed Alex before, but never with this kind of intensity or need. I held her as tightly as I dared. When we finally paused for breath, I realized tears were streaming from my eyes. I brushed at them with my fingers, and Alex rubbed my cheeks, too.

She held my face and we kissed again, this time with less urgency. I slowly stroked her back and sides as her fingers combed through my hair. I didn't think about what lay ahead for us – I just wanted to relish the break from numbness and frustration.

Alex seemed to understand. She rested her head on my chest and let me hold her for a long time without speaking.

She finally looked up at me. "We keep doing this," she said. "I'm not complaining, but... Is it going somewhere?"

"Mmm…" I had no idea. "Right here is pretty good." I kissed her.

"If Captain Ross ever suspects we're, uh – whatever it is," she said with a shrug. "He'll split us up, no questions asked."

I stole one more kiss.

"I'm serious, Bobby. We're not even sure what we're doing – it's not worth losing our partnership."

"We'll keep it out of the squad room."

"We have to. Deakins made a point of not asking, not wanting to know. But you realize," she said, "that we were on Captain Ross's blacklist from his first day at MCS."

"You mean I was," I said.

She shook her head. "He questioned me coming back early for this case. He's waiting for me to screw up."

I traced my thumb along her jaw line. "I don't think so. He's counting on you to keep an eye on me."

She smiled. "That's got to be–"

My cell phone rang. I was surprised it still worked, considering I'd thrown it across Ray Wisnesky's office. I pulled it out of my pocket and checked the display.

"It's my mom," I said, and suddenly my contented mood faded. "I'd better, uh…" I touched Eames' shoulder lightly as I rose. I walked a few steps away before answering the call.

I took a deep breath. This wouldn't be an easy conversation. Mom was suspicious of doctors, even the ones she'd known for years at Carmel Ridge. She questioned every step of the cancer treatment.

I'd told Eames Mom was a fighter; that was true, but she fought me as well as the cancer. Every day I had to persuade her to let the oncologist do his job, and some days she refused him anyway. If she was like this when the treatment only involved a brief radiation treatment a few times a week, what would happen when she started chemo?

Today I didn't have enough energy to deal with Mom's anger and fear. I let her go on for several minutes – the same complaints, the same accusations – and then interrupted. "Mom, Mom… Mom! I'm working now. I can't talk."

"Bobby," she said, "are you listening to me? These people can't even find a vein to draw blood! I swear, Bobby–"

"Ma, we've been through this over and over. I'll call you later – soon. Okay? Bye." I flipped the phone shut, but didn't move yet. I closed my eyes and counted to ten a few times until I felt my heartbeat slow down. I was afraid of what lay ahead for Mom, and it was getting harder and harder to be strong for her.

I finally turned back toward Eames. I was grateful she didn't ask about Mom.

What was I doing, fooling around with my partner? She was still recovering from physical and mental trauma. There was a dark cloud over my head. I had no business doing anything that would screw up Eames' future. Besides, I was barely going to have time to do the job, let alone spend personal time with her. Personal time? No. It all had to go to Mom now.

"Eames," I said, "I'm sorry about…" I gestured to the spot on the bench beside her. "About that. I shouldn't have…"

She stared at me for so long I wondered if I should explain or apologize again. She finally shrugged and said, "Of course we shouldn't have. That's what I was saying. But guess what? I'm glad we did."

I took a step closer. "I mean, I'm realizing what... how much... how big a commitment my mom's treatment..." It was one of my tells: when I was emotionally worked up I spoke in sentence fragments.

"What kind of treatment is she getting?" Eames asked.

I trusted Eames, but this was just what I didn't want: broadcasting my mess of a private life. But it was my own fault – I'd mentioned Mom's cancer in front of Eames. Did I think she wouldn't remember?

I dropped onto the bench, leaving plenty of space between us. "She, uh..." I rubbed the back of my neck. "They're doing radiation... that's the first, um... first step. It's targeted, so the, it, it's more effective... And then... they follow-up with chemo..." It was so hard to talk about this.

I peeked at Eames. She nodded as though I'd been speaking intelligibly. "She's lucky in one thing," she said. "She's got you in her corner."

I exhaled in a loud "Pff!" at that.

"Seriously," she said. "You've probably researched all the meds out there, all the therapies. You talk to the doctors, ask questions, track her progress. Am I right?"

I rose again and looked at Eames. I appreciated her kindness, but it didn't change the problems or my obligations.

She stood and reached for my hand, then started to lean forward, and I felt a moment of alarm. Although she wasn't asking for a lot, I couldn't let her take it further. I had to keep my focus on Mom. I quickly kissed Eames on the cheek.

"Sorry," I said. "We should, uh..."

She was holding my hand pretty firmly – I didn't want to drag her toward the car, so I stood there like an idiot, shuffling my feet and looking at the ground.

"Hey." Eames squeezed and tugged my hand. I peeked at her. She said, "I wish things were different, but... it's no use wishing. Right now we have to get back to One PP, and then you need to be with your mom. Sometime down the line we'll get a chance to figure out what's going on with us. Okay?"

I nodded. "'Kay."

"In the meantime," she said, "we're good. If you need to take any time, I'll cover."

I didn't want to put any extra burden on my partner because of my personal problems, but before I could even start to say that, Eames shook her head and pointed a finger in my face.

"I mean it, Bobby," she said. "Do I have to remind you how much you've covered for me when I had to be at therapy or counseling? So just shut up and let me do this for you."

I spent the rest of the trip to the city in thought.

Eames had responded passionately when I kissed her, but then she'd backed off easily when I pointed out the obstacles we faced. She was a master of compartmentalizing her life, I knew – probably better than me – but even so, I was surprised how she could switch her focus back onto work without a hitch. Maybe our personal relationship wasn't that big a deal to her?

We'd gone out once in the brief gap between Captains Deakins and Ross. I had a lot of fun, and I'd been sure she did, too. We'd agreed to stop until we knew more about our new captain.

Now it looked like we might not start again.

It was probably just as well.

.


	11. Ambushed

**AMBUSHED**

_Setting: after S06/E08 War At Home_

* * *

I was helping my nephew wash his hands at the bathroom sink when I heard a knock at my front door. "Can you get that?" I called to my sister. We were expecting her husband, Mike.

"Again?" Jonathan held out his hands for another squirt of liquid soap. He loved to make big soap suds, and I didn't mind. It was worth the wet, bubbly mess to get him clean, not to mention the fun of watching the three-year-old enjoy such a simple task. He always does wonders for my morale.

"Come on, buddy," I said to Jonathan. "Let's get you rinsed off so you can go see Daddy." I dried his hands and sent him running out while I wiped down the sink, mirror and floor where he'd splashed.

The disappearance of Deputy Commissioner Dockerty's daughter had pulled me from my family's Thanksgiving dinner. I'd worked pretty much non-stop, so I'd also missed my traditional Black Friday shopping outing with my sister. The tragic ending to the search was depressing on many levels, and my partner had made it all worse with his juvenile behavior.

On top of all that stress was Captain Ross and his completely un-subtle style... I was doing my best to forget the whole weekend, but my anger had followed me home.

When Jackie called to suggest dinner on Tuesday night, I'd smiled for the first time since the call-out on Thursday morning. We often went out together on my days off; Jackie would bring Jonathan to my apartment in the afternoon, and Mike would meet us there after work. It never mattered to me whether we went to a restaurant or had take-out food, as long as I had time with my special little guy.

After I got the bathroom presentable I ducked into my bedroom. I could hear Jackie's voice and Jonathan's giggle. I brushed my hair and took my time to give them a chance to welcome Mike.

When I finally walked out, my jaw must have nearly hit the floor. It wasn't Mike, but Bobby! He was holding my nephew in his arms; Jonathan was showing off his current favorite toy, a bright green plush turtle.

Didn't Bobby have a clue he was the last person I wanted to see at my apartment today? He'd acted like a complete idiot from the first moment he showed up at the Dockertys' home. Yes, I knew his mom was pushing all his buttons every chance she got, but didn't he at least know I was on his side? I'd covered for him, and in return he sulked and told me to back off. Me!

I was not in the mood to hear a Goren apology: half-hearted, mumbled and inadequate.

"Alex, look who's here," Jackie said. She grabbed my arm and pulled me forward. "It's Uncle Bobby!"

Jonathan waved his stuffed turtle at me and echoed his mom with a big smile. "Unca Bobby!" He turned to Bobby and said, "Okay, down?" Once he was on the floor he trotted to the corner of the living room where I kept a small stash of his toys.

I forced a smile onto my face and said, "Hey." That was all I was going to do – the rest was up to Bobby.

He looked me in the eye for half a second, and then went into his routine: rub the back of his neck, look at the floor, shift his feet, look at me again.

Jackie was getting more curious by the second. I was afraid to guess where her imagination was flying.

Finally Bobby spoke. "I, um... I left my, my..." His hands waved aimlessly.

"Leather folder?" I asked. "I locked it in my desk after you... uh..." How should I describe his outrageous exit from the squad room?

"Yeah, after I left," he said. At least Bobby knew enough to look embarrassed.

"You don't need it now, do you?" It would have served him right if I'd pitched his precious folder in the trash after he stormed out, leaving all the booking paperwork to me and Captain Ross.

"No, I just... Okay, good. Thanks, uh, thanks." Bobby was so restless that I started feeling itchy, too.

Jonathan returned with a little dump truck. "Mama, look! Truck!"

Jackie patted his head. "That's great, honey." She looked back and forth between Bobby and me. "If you two need to talk about... work or whatever..." There was that mischievous look of hers! "You go on into the kitchen," she said, "and I'll stay here with this kiddo."

I didn't want a private conversation with Bobby, but maybe it would get him out of here faster. I'd deal with my sister's over-eager assumptions later. "Okay, fine," I said, and immediately pivoted and walked into the kitchen.

Bobby shuffled after me. I leaned against the counter as I waited for him to speak. When he started to rub his neck, I held up my hand and said, "Please, don't." I couldn't stand to watch his restless fidgeting again. "Did you come about your binder? Because..."

"Uh, not really," he said quietly. "I..." He took a deep breath. "I need to apologize."

"Yes...?" I crossed my arms over my chest. Bobby could infer anything he liked from my body language. An apology was good, but there had to be more than a few words. Half-finished sentences and mournful looks weren't going to melt my heart.

"You're angry at me," he said.

"You think?"

He blinked for a second, then nodded and shoved his hands into his pockets. "I wasn't... I, I, I treated you badly," he said. "I was, uh, you know, angry at Captain Ross, and the Deputy Commissioner, or... them, for bringing us in when we were off duty. That day was, uh... my mom's chemo started that day, and... I needed to be there with her. She wasn't dealing with it very well."

"I got that, Bobby," I said. "You were off in your own world. I got it. I understood."

"...and you covered for me," he said, leaning closer. "I did know that, but... I had all this frustration and I took it out on you. I'm sorry, Alex."

It was an okay apology – not great, but better than nothing. I stared hard at him, trying to make sure he wasn't just saying words I wanted to hear. He looked sincere, but I wasn't ready to let him off the hook yet.

"The thing is," I said, "she'll do chemo again, and we'll be called out again, and... There we go again."

He sighed. "That occurred to me, too." At least he wasn't fidgeting now. "But..." He shook his head and held up his palms. "I was reacting, not thinking."

"You think about everything," I said. "All the time."

"I was thinking about getting out of there and back to my mom as fast as possible. You ran this investigation, Eames. I was dead weight most of the time. And walking out on you at the end... I screwed up. Sorry. I shouldn't have let Captain Ross get under my skin like that. He just..."

Bobby looked tired. Really tired, like look-what-the-cat-dragged-in. I didn't want to add to his stress with my anger, which was starting to soften. But the mention of Captain Ross reminded me of another problem we had to deal with.

"Um, about Captain Ross..." I said, suddenly unable to look Bobby in the eye. "He, uh, he talked to me after you blew up..."

"About what?" He tilted his head down to try and make eye contact, but I turned away. "I'm fired?" he asked. "Alex?"

"No, not that." My chat with the Captain had been embarrassing and annoying, and I really didn't want to re-live it. "He, um, he asked me if... It's stupid!" I took a deep breath. "He asked if we're having personal problems."

"Personal?"

"He wondered if we have a personal relationship outside of the job."

"What!"

When the captain had asked me in his usual blunt way, I'd been stunned – exactly the way Bobby looked now.

I added, "...because of the way we weren't getting along on this case. He thought it looked like more than just work."

"Oh, come on!"

"I know," I said, nodding. "As if the whole weekend wasn't already a wreck, he piled on with that!"

Bobby frowned. "He shouldn't poke his nose into..." He rubbed a hand over his face. "What'd you tell him?"

"I told him the truth: we're not seeing each other." Bobby and I had gone out only one time, just before Ross got to Major Case. Since then things went haywire for both of us; we never had time to think about a second date.

Now Bobby looked even more exhausted. "Sorry, I shouldn't have... I screwed up. I'm sorry."

I touched his arm. "Apology accepted, but look: next time – and we both know there will be a next time – next time keep your favorite partner in the loop. That's all I need." I didn't add anything about a professional appearance at work to keep us off Ross's radar.

Bobby caught my hand. He looked very emotional. I thought he might kiss me, but that wouldn't be a good idea with Jackie within earshot. I cut a glance toward the living room and he got the message. He squeezed and let go.

I asked, "How's she handling the chemo?" He'd hardly told me anything about his mom's treatments.

"She's wiped out – sick to her stomach, dizzy, weak. That's what the doctor said to expect, so... It was the first session and they can't tell yet if it's helping."

"I hope it does. Have you been with her the whole time?" I hoped he was heading home to get some serious shut-eye.

"The nausea finally eased off, and she's been sleeping most of the day," Bobby said, "so I went home and caught a few hours. I'm on my way back to Carmel Ridge."

On his way? First of all, my apartment was nowhere near the route from his home to her hospital. And if this was what he looked like after sleeping, I didn't want to imagine the "before" Bobby.

"I'm glad you came by," I said. I was usually good at holding grudges, but it felt better to get back in sync with my partner.

"Yeah, me too. You're going out with your sister and Jonathan?"

"Yep. We'll take a vote when Mike gets here – it's either pizza or the diner. Most days Jonny votes three or four times for pizza."

"Okay, I'd better get going. Thanks for..."

I grabbed his sleeve and towed him toward the living room. "Jackie – the coast is clear! Uncle Bobby's leaving!" I called.

* * *

I expected the grilling from my sister. Jackie only waited until we two were alone – when Mike took Jonathan to the bathroom at the little Italian restaurant – and then she pounced with questions about me and Bobby. I didn't tell her about his mom, and did my best to convince her there was nothing going on, but she said she could tell from the way we looked at each other. The way we finished each other's sentences proved that it was inevitable.

Whatever. A long time ago I gave up trying to tell my sister what to think.

I definitely didn't expect a call from Jimmy Deakins the next evening. I'd just returned home from the grocery store, and was putting things away when my phone rang.

He'd called twice after my kidnapping, so I wasn't surprised to hear from him. We went through the usual small talk for a minute, and then the ton of bricks landed.

"Alex, I'm not your captain any more, so you can tell me to pound sand, but I'm just going to say this straight out: you and Bobby need to be careful about seeing each other."

"What?" My heart stopped, and then started racing. "We're not–"

"Your dad's worried," Deakins continued. "He doesn't want you to miss making lieutenant or captain, and I agree with him. Bobby's a great guy, but you need to keep it out of the squad room."

"Wait a minute," I said. The shock wore off quickly, and now my temper was rising. "My dad had no business calling you, because he has no idea what–"

"I've had my say. I'm not criticizing you or–"

"No, see, you don't understand," I said. "My father is imagining this – Bobby and I are not going out!" I knew exactly where Dad's delusion came from: Jackie's big mouth.

"Alex, it's not the first time I had this thought," Deakins said. "Look, you have a great future in the NYPD. All I'm saying is please, keep it on the down-low."

It had to be the most uncomfortable phone conversation I'd ever had. How could I tell my former captain – a man I looked up to and admired – that he was a gossip-hound? Yes, there was a tiny bit of truth to his supposition, but nothing like what he'd assumed.

When I finally hung up I was in turmoil. I was furious at my sister and dad, and humiliated at the thought that rumors about me were circulating through the retired cop grapevine.

My only consolation was that at least it wasn't Bobby's fault this time. I didn't want to discuss the problem with him. It would either make us really uncomfortable with each other or else tempt us to push the limits of our relationship. I had to hope that Captain Ross would keep his suppositions to himself.

Why do I always end up in these lose-lose situations?

.


	12. Moving On

**MOVING ON**

_Setting: after S06/E13 Albatross_

* * *

One theory says that life in the public eye attracts a certain personality type: people who thrive on crises, who need to live on the brink of catastrophe, who feel they can control out-of-control situations, or at least ride them the way a surfer rides a wave.

Another theory says that life in the public eye eventually transforms all people into this personality type.

We'd seen both theories verified. George Pagolis was definitely the dare-devil personality: being arrested for murder amused him instead of frightening him. Maureen Pagolis had probably started out as a very idealistic, straight-arrow type, but she'd become just as addicted to dangerous behavior as her husband. The only difference was that she despised herself for it.

When we brought Maureen in for her confession and booking, I let Eames take the lead. Eames and I have never shied away from exposing hypocrisy; we both believe that people who commit or abet murder don't deserve false honor. But my partner was trying to hang onto the shreds of respect she'd had for the woman, and I didn't want her to think I was rubbing her nose in Maureen's decline and fall. It certainly wasn't her fault.

We'd arrested Maureen at her home in the morning, and the process took most of the day. Afterward we came back to our desks and sat for a long time without doing or saying anything. Eames put her elbows on the desk, rested her chin on her hands and stared blankly at her computer screen. She seemed peaceful, but it was a façade – she was upset and angry. I hoped my mom didn't choose this moment to call, because I needed to stay focused on Eames.

Without looking up at me, Eames spoke. "You don't have to stare at me like that. I'm not going to blow up or anything."

I hadn't actually been staring at her, but I had been expecting a blow-up.

"Look," she continued, "it's not the first time we had to arrest someone who's supposed to be upholding and defending the law. Right?"

I nodded. "Right."

There was a long pause, and then Eames said, "So why are you waiting for me to explode? I'm telling you, I'm okay."

"I know." I leaned across my desk and spoke quietly. "And... We're okay?"

"Yes, we are. It wasn't about that, Bobby. It was..." She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "How many times have we seen people go down for the stupidest, most selfish reasons? I keep lowering my expectations, but... Damn it, how low do we have to go?"

I understood her frustration. Talking was better than letting her anger fester, but that explosion might happen if she kept talking.

I looked around the squad room to be sure we wouldn't be overheard, and then quietly asked, "Do you want to go out for a drink?"

She closed her laptop. "As long as we drop this subject."

I stood and reached for my coat. "Deal."

Eames changed her mind about drinking before we even made it to the ground floor – we were still in the elevator.

She leaned close and whispered, "How about if we just get something to eat instead. Maybe that Vietnamese sandwich place? I need to be up and out early tomorrow."

"Is it your day with Jonathan?"

"I'm uh, I'm going to look at condos. And apartments."

Ever since she'd been kidnapped at her home by Jo Gage last summer, I'd expected Alex to move. She'd claimed she was fine at her place, and I believed her, but it had to be difficult sometimes. Did she have involuntary reflexes? Nightmares? I didn't know, but I was glad she was ready to start fresh.

The elevator opened. "Where are you looking?" I asked.

"Well, Jackie's been campaigning for me to move closer, so… I'm thinking Forest Hills."

"Sounds good."

"When my brother heard I was moving, his kids started begging me to come to Staten Island."

I smiled at her. "You're not really the Staten Island type, Eames."

She chuckled. "That's what I told them. But I promised to visit more."

I opened the door to the plaza and followed her outside.

We'd walked a block when she asked, "You're going to your mom tomorrow?"

I had involuntary reflexes, too. The mention or thought of Mom's cancer treatment put a hard knot in my stomach.

"She has chemo in the morning," I said.

Eames reached over and patted my arm as we kept walking. "Anything I can do for you… just ask. Will you stay with her all day?"

I shrugged. "It depends. Last time she slept for about fourteen hours, and actually felt better than usual when she woke up." I never knew how to help her, or whether she'd even want me around.

"If you want some company, give me a call," she said. "Maybe we'll both feel like having that drink."

* * *

"Sorry, what'd you say? Wait a sec." Eames was practically shouting over the phone. There were a lot of voices in the background, but suddenly the noise level dropped. "Okay, I'm outside now," she said in a normal tone. "It's a zoo in there. Don't ask how I ended up in my dad's neighborhood."

"You didn't look at apartments?"

"Oh, I did. In fact, I decided on a condo in Forest Hills, like I told you. I signed a pre-contract, or whatever they call it, to hold it while I get the mortgage lined up. The whole thing was a lot less hassle than I expected."

"Good, good."

"So how did your mom do? I couldn't hear you before."

"Mmm, not bad," I said. "She was kind of okay for the first few hours after the session, but then she just wanted to sleep, so…" She'd practically kicked me out.

"Do you want to stop by my dad's?" she asked.

I was tired, but the idea of joining the Eameses for a couple hours was tempting. I said, "I guess I could drive down through Yonkers. Okay, sure. Who's there with you?"

"Well, my brother went with me this morning," she said. "He believes a woman all alone looking at apartments is going to be cheated. It turned out he negotiated the price down four thousand, so I'm not complaining. Jackie invited herself. Afterward she dragged us over to Dad's. Mike picked up Jonathan from nursery school and met us here."

That explained all the noise I'd heard.

Eames continued, "Dad must think we're still teenagers, because he ordered six pizzas."

"Wow."

"Six. You'll be doing us a favor, Bobby. Are you still at Carmel Ridge?"

"Yeah; the parking lot. It'll take me half an hour or so."

"There's one more thing..." Her voice dropped down as though she was afraid of being overheard. "I have to warn you about my dad. And Jackie. And probably my brother, for all I know."

I'd been about to turn the key and start the car, but I froze. "What?"

"So, uh, you know my sister imagines that we, uh, that we're seeing each other or something like that. Right?"

All of a sudden I was sorry I'd agreed so easily. What was Eames going to tell me?

She continued, sounding angry or maybe embarrassed. "I keep telling her... but she's persuaded herself it's true. Which wouldn't be so bad, except that she repeats all this fantasy to my dad, who has nothing better to do."

This was not good. "Should I not come?" I asked, already knowing the answer.

"No, come. Please. Jonathan really wants to see you. But just be prepared if I have to read someone the Riot Act. It's funny, because at first my dad told me we had to stop; but lately he's been converted to Jackie's point of view. Well, it would be funny if they weren't like two old biddies gossiping."

"Eames –"

"Bobby, it'll be all right. I'll threaten them not to act like idiots. And besides, I need you on good terms with them, since you've all been volunteered to help me move."

"Since you put it like that..."

"Thanks, Bobby. See you soon."

I slid my phone into my pocket, and realized that I was smiling. I couldn't remember the last time I'd ended a visit to Mom with a smile.

Let Alex's family imagine whatever they wanted. It was worth this feeling.

.


	13. At A Loss for Words

**AT A LOSS FOR WORDS**

_Setting: after S06/E18 Silencer_

* * *

"He seems like a decent guy," Captain Ross said.

I tried to nod as blandly as possible, forcing my face muscles not to frown. Didn't he remember saying the exact same words about Detective Lyons barely a week ago? And did he think he was being subtle?

"Yep," I said, also repeating myself. "He does." No way was I going to offer any personal insights.

I'd gone into the Captain's office to deliver some signed-off forms, and Peter Lyons had arrived in the squad room while I was chatting with Ross. Bobby was seated, talking to Lyons, who stood stiffly by my desk. Whatever they were discussing, it was clear that Bobby was comfortable and Lyons wasn't. Bobby occasionally threw in some sign language hand signs. Lyons kept sneaking glances over toward the Captain's office – he wasn't being very subtle, either. He was hardly moving, and I couldn't help but compare him to Bobby, who was pretty much a perpetual motion machine.

This was ridiculous. If I stayed any longer, I was afraid the Captain would offer to set me up on a date with Lyons. However, if I went out to my desk, Lyons might ask right in front of Bobby and everyone. There was no escape.

I decided to take my chances with Lyons, but I saw Bobby get up, put a hand on Lyons' shoulder and gesture toward the elevators. I had no idea what he said, but miraculously Lyons went along with him.

My first impulse was to run for the back staircase and go home for the day – but that was the cowardly way out. I returned to my desk.

Why did I want to avoid Lyons? I didn't have a good answer. Captain Ross was right: Peter Lyons was a good man. I liked him. I wasn't seeing anyone. I hadn't been on more than two dates with any guy in a long, long time. If Lyons was interested in me, there was no reason to reject him.

Except...

I stared at the empty chair across from me. I wouldn't take the cowardly way out here, either. I had to acknowledge the real reason I was so vague about Peter Lyons: Robert Goren.

We'd been out on exactly one date, almost a year ago. We hadn't discussed the possibility of a relationship outside of work. We never made any promises to each other. We weren't very good at sharing our personal lives with each other.

But I'd be lying if I denied there was something between us. Somewhere along the way, the normal brotherly love that cops have for their partners had grown into a different kind of love. We kept things professional on the job, but we both felt the attraction. There'd been times we gave into temptation, and although I felt slightly guilty about it, I didn't want to stop. In fact, I wanted more.

This was why Ross was so eager to play matchmaker: he didn't know anything for certain, but he was petrified that Bobby and I might be involved. If I was seeing Lyons, then the Captain wouldn't have to deal with a possible relationship between two of his detectives.

The sound of Bobby's voice brought me back to the present. I swiveled my chair as he and Lyons strolled into the bullpen together. Bobby must have taken him downstairs to the cafeteria. Lyons was holding two cups – obviously, one was for me.

"Hello, Alexandra," Lyons said, and held out a cup. "Detective Goren said you like green tea with lemon?"

"Thanks, I do," I said, and accepted the tea. I met Bobby's eye, and was immediately suspicious. He looked amused, which made me even more nervous. Had he told Lyons to use saccharine instead of sugar in my tea?

Lyons stood beside my desk, once again looking awkward. The unpleasant anticipation I'd felt in the Captain's office came back in full force, but I stayed calm. Please God, I begged silently, don't let him blurt out anything embarrassing. If he asked me out I decided I'd say yes – one date couldn't hurt, right? – but please, not in front of everyone.

"Okay," Bobby said. He was standing at his desk, rolling a pen back and forth on the blotter. "Well, I'm just going to..." He picked up a few sheets of paper, then a file folder, and walked toward the holding cell area. I knew for a fact he had no business there.

I took a careful sip of the tea: it could have used more sugar, but it wasn't bad. "Thanks," I said again. "You can sit at Goren's desk if you want."

He spoke quietly. "I wonder if we could talk somewhere?"

Here it comes, I thought.

"Sure, ah, over there," I said, rising and pointing to a visitor office. I left the tea on my desk and led the way. I wasn't sure I wanted the visibility of a glass-walled room for this conversation, but it beat too much privacy in the interrogation rooms.

I went to the far side of the office and leaned my back against the window. At first I crossed my arms, but I realized the body language was too defensive – I didn't need Goren the Profiler to tell me that – so I dropped my hands to rest on the window sill.

Lyons closed the door behind him and turned to smile at me. He took a slow sip of his tea and stayed near the door. I didn't need the body language dictionary for that, either.

"I enjoyed working with you," he said, "even though the circumstances were... well, not exactly ideal."

I hoped he wasn't referring to Goren. I asked, "You never worked a murder before?"

"No," he said. "I have to commend you and your partner..." He blinked, paused and took another sip, which made me wonder if he'd meant to avoid mentioning Bobby in this conversation. I didn't allow myself to smile. Lyons started over. "I have to commend you for the way you dealt with the deaf community. You treated them with dignity."

"Thanks. We treat everyone with dignity – unless they prove they deserve otherwise."

"Yes, of course. I'm sure you do." He nodded and chewed on his lip. I could tell he was weighing his words carefully – too carefully. This was starting to sound like an interrogation. I wanted to nudge him along, but he had to do it on his own.

I noticed Captain Ross watching from his office across the bullpen area. Oh well, he could draw whatever conclusions he liked. There was no sign of Bobby.

Lyons continued, "Larry certainly could put anyone's patience to the test, but I heard afterward he was impressed that, um... Well, he's still determined to isolate himself from the hearing, but he actually seems to have enjoyed his time in here."

"Sure," I said, "because now he's got a truckload of material for his next play, royalty-free."

"Yes, yes. So, anyway," Lyons said, setting down his cup and taking a step closer, "I was wondering if you'd like to go out sometime."

He'd finally gotten to the point, but before I could answer he backed off!

He said, "I know Major Case keeps you busy, and you have your own life, and... commitments, but if you like, we could find a time that works for you."

I was surprised he was so uncertain. Was he afraid of me? I was standing here with a smile on my face, trying to be open and non-threatening. Come to think of it, I wasn't expecting flowers or candy, but where was the romance? Was it because we were in the squad room, surrounded by detectives? I'd never analyzed a date invitation like this.

Time to stop analyzing. After all, the guy made an effort to come up to MCS, buy me a tea, and ask me out. It was my turn to make an effort to get this date off the ground.

I said, "Contrary to general belief, I do occasionally have a life outside of Major Case." I smiled and shrugged. "What do you have in mind?"

It didn't take long, and it was a little too business-like for my taste. We settled on a day and time for our first date: a tour of botanical gardens and dinner afterward. By that point I half expected it would be our last date, too, but... Try to have a positive outlook, I told myself.

Lyons didn't kiss my cheek – he just gave a quick squeeze on my arm, promised to call, and left.

I hung back in the office for another minute. Captain Ross wasn't staring any more, but I was sure he'd seen the whole transaction. He'd better not offer to give me time off for the date.

As soon as I looked toward my desk I forgot Lyons and Ross and dates.

Bobby was sitting there, hunched over with the phone pressed against his ear. I instantly knew something was wrong. If the call was about work he'd be looking for me, so it had to be personal, and not good news. It was either his mother or her doctor on the line with him.

When his mom started chemotherapy, he'd told me she showed good results –that was four months ago. Bobby had been there to nurse her through the after-effects of every session. He rarely talked about it, but it wasn't hard to tell when she'd had a bad day.

I returned to my desk and opened my laptop. Bobby was keeping his voice low, but I heard the end of his conversation. "I'll be there tonight, okay? As soon as I get off work," he said. "I'll call when I'm leaving." He hung up with a quiet sigh, and finally looked over at me.

Neither of us spoke; I hoped he knew I wanted to help any way I could. I nodded, and he gave one quick nod in return. He held eye contact for a few seconds, and then shuffled some papers. In that quiet exchange I felt he understood me. It stunk that I couldn't do more.

I opened my email and checked the in-box: nothing urgent, nothing interesting.

"I, um," Bobby said.

I looked up quickly. "Hmm?"

"I might... leave a little early if we don't..."

"No problem," I said and leaned closer. "She did chemo?"

I could tell he was deciding how much to tell me. Finally he shrugged. "The side effects are lasting longer," he said, his voice nearly a whisper. "Chemo was four days ago, and she's still wiped out."

I felt miserable. "Sorry."

He suddenly stood, and I thought he might leave right then. But he shuffled his feet, moved his binder and some papers, and then looked at me again. "Let's, uhh..." He flicked a finger in the direction of the interrogation rooms.

I slapped my laptop closed and followed him.

The light was on in the first interrogation room – two people were seated at the table. I peeked into the observation room: ADA Whitney was in there, talking with two detectives.

Bobby was getting more agitated. We looked at each other for a second, and I tipped my head toward the stairwell at the end of the hall.

Bobby took us up to the twelfth floor landing. "It's not good," he whispered. "The chemo is less effective with every session. There are other treatments available, and I'm researching them, but timing is crucial. She, she doesn't want to do it any more."

I saw the grief in his eyes – it broke my heart.

As soon as I touched his arm he pulled me close in a hug. For a long time he said nothing. I held onto him, rubbing his back. It felt like his cheek was resting on top of my head.

"Bobby," I began, and he immediately let go.

"Sorry," he said, stepping back.

"No apologies," I said. "You do what you have to do." I patted his heart, and stretched up to kiss him quickly.

That earned me a hint of a smile. "Thanks. What happened with... Pete?" Bobby asked.

I had to smile, too. His expression reminded me of my brother when we were teenagers. "Pete," I said, "finally built up his courage and asked me out. And speaking of Pete, what did you tell him about me?"

"Nothing," he said, shrugging with totally fake innocence. "Just... the tea, you know. So, Friday night? Where's he taking you?" Bobby had the nerve to lean down and kiss me – and not a quick or brotherly kind of kiss!

I pushed away. It was better to see him mischievous than sad. I poked him in the chest.

"Uh-uh," I said. "If I tell you, you'll be on the phone with my sister as soon as my back's turned, and pretty soon it's all over the whole NYPD! Oh, wait. Come to think of it..."

From the smirk on his face, I realized Bobby had also realized that the cop grapevine might finally come in handy for us.

He rubbed my arms and then started down the stairs. "Should I call her at home or on her cell?" he said over his shoulder.

.


	14. Double Team

**DOUBLE TEAM**

_Setting: after S07/E01 Amends_

* * *

Here I was again: sitting on my kitchen floor, staring at the wall, thinking nothing.

Almost nothing, that is. Every once in a while I had the impulse to call my mom. It was force of habit, almost instinctive. I'd called her every day since... at the moment I couldn't remember how long it had been.

Back to not thinking about anything, until...

Eames. Alex. I wanted to call her, but I didn't have the energy to move the ten feet to my phone. And why bother? She wouldn't want to talk to me. She'd been forced to relive her husband's murder, and I knew she blamed me. I'd told her the truth – we had to examine all the evidence – but it cut me to the heart to see her so close to tears. She thought I didn't care.

No. Don't call. Don't think.

That worked for a while. Then my phone rang.

I moved and immediately groaned from the stiffness in my back and legs. How long had I been sitting here? It was getting dark outside now.

I finally made it to my feet and grabbed the phone. "Hello?"

"Bobby? Is that you?"

It sounded like Alex, but something in the voice was off. "Uhh..." My brain was as stiff as my backside at the moment.

"It's Jackie," she said, and things clicked. I saw her face in my mind. "Sorry to bother you."

More thoughts started clicking, and I felt a surge of adrenaline. Why would Alex's sister call me? What was wrong?

"Is she okay?" I asked as I looked around for my car keys. "Are you with her? Where are you?"

"She's fine, she's fine – nobody's hurt or anything like that," Jackie said. "I didn't mean to scare you. But did something happen to upset her? Something on the job?"

I almost laughed. "Yeah, our last case was..." A disaster? A disastrous success? I asked, "What did she say?"

"Nothing," Jackie replied. "She never talks about work. But I know her – this is different. She's scared or, I don't know – stunned?"

If Alex hadn't told her sister yet about finding Joe Dutton's real killer, I wasn't going to do it now. That would only get me into worse trouble. After we got Dr. Beltran's confession and finished the paperwork, she'd left without a word to anyone.

"Are you still there?" Jackie asked.

"I'm here."

"Is she angry at you?" she asked, and I heard that same sharp, discerning edge in Jackie's voice that I'd heard so often from her sister. "Is there a problem between you two?"

That was what I'd been wondering, too. "Not really, but... well, sort of."

"I'm not accusing you," she said, "but I know how close you are, and when she gets her Irish up, it's like you can't do anything right."

"I know."

There was another long pause.

"Ooo-kay, I understand," she said, and I heard her sigh. "You can't talk about it. But tell me this: how bad is it? Should I wait, or should I try to force it out of her?"

I rubbed the stubble on my jaw as I thought about my answer. "It's... Maybe you should try to get her to talk to you. Or... I'm not sure."

"Oops, I heard the car door," Jackie said. "Alex took Jonny to the grocery store, and they're back. I've got to go. Bye – thanks, Bobby."

If anyone could deal with Alex's anger and stubbornness, it was her sister. I hoped Jackie could persuade her to open up. It would be tough, I knew, because I was just as bad about keeping problems to myself.

I stared around my apartment. Now what? I didn't want to return to the kitchen floor. I might need to do laundry. Not now. There were dishes in the sink, waiting to be washed. Not yet. Jackie's comment about grocery shopping reminded me that my refrigerator and shelves were nearly empty. After sitting alone for so long, going out for a simple errand seemed like the best choice, so I grabbed my keys.

* * *

"Excuse me, do you need help?"

The hesitant voice of a young woman snapped me out of my reverie. I realized I'd been staring at the heaps of neatly arranged bell peppers and cucumbers.

I smiled at her and the little girl she held on her hip. "Sorry, I was thinking about something else, and I kind of got..." I moved out of her way. Why was I in the produce section? I couldn't remember the last time I bought fresh vegetables, or the last time I cooked a meal.

As I stood on the checkout line my phone rang. I checked the ID: Eames' cell. She might be angry, but talking to her was better than what I'd been doing all day – nothing. I flipped open the phone. "Yeah."

"What did my sister say to you?" That was the Eames I knew – she always got right to the point. That much was normal, but I couldn't tell if she was angry at me.

"Um, she... Actually, I was going to ask you the same thing," I said. I stepped out of line and walked to a section of the store that seemed quiet.

"Bobby!"

"No, really. She asked me if something happened on the job, but I just told her she should talk to you." I hoped that was enough of an explanation.

"And...?"

"And then she said she heard you and Jonathan coming back from the store, so she hung up."

Eames was quiet for a while. I thought I heard the clink of silverware or glasses. Maybe she was washing dishes, or putting them away.

I said, "I guess she did. Jackie did. Talk to you." She still didn't reply. I hoped Eames wasn't holding a grudge against me. "Can I meet you somewhere? For a drink?"

She coughed – it might have been a laugh. "No, see, right now, drinking is not a good idea."

Why not? Because she was already drinking? I didn't hear that slight slurring that happened to her speech. No matter – it was best not to push the request.

I said, "So, you, you, you talked to Jackie about... about Manny Beltran and... Joe?" I held my breath. Every time we'd discussed her husband's murder during our investigation, she'd turned her anger on me.

She sighed. "I, ummm... Yeah, I told her."

"Good." I glanced around the store – nobody was paying any attention to me.

"Maybe it's good," she said. Her words were clipped, as though she was struggling with her emotions. I wished I could see her.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

Another sigh. "I guess. Look, I know it had to be done – checking the DNA and all that."

"I never took it lightly," I said. "It wasn't just a puzzle to me. I... I'm sorry it hurt you."

"In the end nothing's really changed for me, but... Nine years ago they rushed to judgment, and I keep thinking how many lives are ruined now because of it. How many lives lost?"

No wonder she was depressed. Cops saw a lot of bad situations, but this one was personal for her.

"Alex, there was nothing you could have–"

She interrupted, ignoring my comment. "And you were pulled back in while you were still grieving for your mom," she said. "You didn't get a chance to, to, to get your feet under you again."

I didn't have a reply for that. It was true – it was still true now.

We were both quiet for a while.

"Hey, where are you?" she asked. "I'm hearing voices and beeping... and you're talking so quietly."

"Oh, I'm at the grocery store. It's the checkout registers."

"Well, that's one good sign," she said, and I could tell she was amused. "You're buying groceries, not take-out food. I hope your frozen dinners aren't melting while we talk."

I looked down into my basket, which I'd set on the floor: two boxes of pasta, a jar of sauce, a container of orange juice, dried fruit in a cellophane bag and dish soap. It wasn't exactly fresh food, but... "No, no frozen dinners. Uh, where are you now?"

"Home. Doing pretty much nothing. Which is why I'm in such a crappy mood. You know, why does the captain think we need three days off? I feel better when I'm working."

"Yeah, me too," I said. "We should just go in tomorrow. You're pretty good at doing the opposite of what Ross tells you, and getting away with it."

She chuckled. "And that reminds me of another reason why I'm smarter than you."

Eames was finally feeling better, and therefore I was feeling better. "Why is that?"

"When you're upset, you blow up at Captain Ross, and get in trouble with him and any number of NYPD brass," she said. "When I'm upset I blow up at you, and I never get in trouble with the brass."

"So... You're saying I should...?"

"Don't even think about it, buddy!" Now she was laughing, and I felt a big smile spread on my face. "The next time you need to let off steam," she said, "take it to the firing range!"

I stooped to pick up my basket, and I headed back toward the checkout line. "Eames?"

"What?"

"How about if I meet you there in, maybe, a couple hours?"

"I can be there in one."

.


	15. Clutching At Straws

**CLUTCHING AT STRAWS**

_Setting: after S07/E09 Untethered_

* * *

My stomach was in knots for so many reasons: anger, fear, stress. There was no relief in sight, and I had no idea what to say to my partner.

We'd left the upstate hospital over an hour ago; Bobby had been quiet the entire time. When I asked how he felt, his answer was no more than "Fine." I gave up asking after the second time.

He didn't look fine, although he was a lot better than when Captain Ross and I rescued him from the cell in Tates prison. The doctor at the hospital told me that when they admitted Bobby his blood pressure and electrolyte levels had been dangerously, frighteningly low. They thought he'd been only a few hours away from a seizure. After a full day of fluid replacement, he'd lost that ominous exhaustion and confusion – but fine? No, definitely not fine.

He looked so different from the Bobby I'd worked with for seven years! I was used to being with him day after day, and I hadn't really noticed the changes: weight gain, graying hair and the weary, sad lines on his face. Now I saw through new eyes, and he broke my heart.

Suddenly Bobby pointed ahead to a road sign that read, 'Rest Stop, 2 miles'.

"Can we...?" he asked.

"Sure," I said. "I could use a pit stop, too."

I smiled at him, but he pulled back into his shell.

When we entered the rest stop building, the bathrooms were to our left, and a few fast food shops were to the right. It was a busy place. I touched Bobby's arm. "Meet me over there," I said, pointing to the tables grouped in front of the eateries.

I came out of the ladies' room and went directly to Starbucks. The line moved quickly, and in a few minutes I had a liter bottle of water under each arm and a large coffee in my hand. I didn't see Bobby at first, but on my second scan of the eating area I spotted him and joined him at the small table.

"Here," I said, sliding one of the water bottles toward him.

"Thanks." He took a long drink from it – by the time he paused for breath, half of the water was gone. I couldn't imagine how thirsty he'd felt while they had him in that secret area.

"You want coffee, anything to eat?" I asked, sipping carefully at my hot coffee. I was pretty sure Bobby had no more than a little pocket change, if that. Captain Ross had taken the fake ID.

Bobby shook his head, but then shrugged. I took that as a Yes, and said, "We can pick up hamburgers or something on our way out." There was no chance these places sold the kind of healthy food he needed, but at this point it would be enough to see him drinking and eating.

He finished the rest of his water in two more gulps, and didn't refuse when I pushed the other bottle across the table.

We were going to need another bathroom stop – or even a few – before we got back to the city.

* * *

"You can just drop me off," Bobby said when we were in Brooklyn, several blocks from his place.

I glanced over at him. "Wow," I said. "You actually put more than two words together!"

He half smiled, but didn't say anything else.

I saw the place I'd been looking for – his neighborhood grocery store – and I pulled into its parking lot. "Let's pick up a few things here," I said. When Bobby shook his head I quickly added, "Just enough to get you through a day or two. Look, you don't have to come inside. You can wait here and let me choose for you..."

That was enough to get him out of the car. He seemed to be feeling stronger now. I hoped he wasn't faking it to pacify me.

He followed me up and down the aisles and didn't comment on my selections. When we got to the produce section I hesitated. If I sent him home with a head of lettuce, cucumbers and tomatoes, it was an easy bet the stuff would end up rotting in the back corner of his refrigerator. I grabbed a bag of ready-made salad and asked, "Are you allergic to this stuff?"

He gave me another half smile and shook his head.

"Would you eat any of it?"

After a pause he said, "I guess."

I dropped it back onto the shelf. "Anything here look appetizing?"

"Here." Bobby picked up a small bag of baby carrots and put it into the shopping basket. "We have enough now," he said.

As we headed back to the car, I said, "Bobby, I'm not trying to nag you or boss you or anything. I just keep seeing what they did to you at Tates..."

"Did you find out anything more about Donny?" he asked, and suddenly he was much more alert – almost clear and focused.

Was that what he'd been thinking about the whole trip home? How totally like Bobby, to focus all his concern on a family member and ignore his own problems. Unfortunately, I couldn't give him any encouraging news.

"No," I said. "I only know they brought him to the dispensary for what looked like appendicitis, and he managed to escape from there. It was around the same time the Captain and I were trying to get you out."

"He might have headed to the city," Bobby said. "He knows Frank's here."

If I were that kid, I'd run the opposite direction and stay out of sight. "Maybe," I said with a shrug. "He knows he can trust you, but at this point all you can do is wait." I touched his arm. "How about I get you home, and we put away this stuff, and we can–"

"Uh, Eames..." Bobby gently took the plastic bags with the groceries from me and started his restless shuffling routine.

"What?" I asked, and then it dawned on me. "You really want me to just drop you off?" Four hours driving upstate through the night, not knowing if Bobby was even alive; a full day sitting at his bedside in the hospital; and another long drive back to the city – and I was no more to him than a taxi driver?

My anger must have been obvious, because Bobby caught my hand. "No, Eames, it's not like that." He'd hardly looked me in the eye since he woke up in the hospital, but now he finally gave me his full attention. "Thank you for, for getting me out of there," he said. "Out of that place... What they're doing to prisoners, just routinely – it's... I, I, I know you want to talk, but I'm not... not up to it yet."

It was a flimsy, completely transparent excuse. His words were true as far as they went, but I knew damn well it was a brush-off. I yanked my hand away and scowled at him. Bobby took a step back – he looked a little panicky.

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. I understood his need to be alone, but this was Bobby. He always took the self-reliant privacy thing too far. If I let him walk away now, I wouldn't see him or hear from him until he came back to One PP – and considering this whole operation had put him in hot water with the NYPD brass, who knows how long that might be?

"Yeah, I get it," I said. "You're welcome for the ride." I strode a few steps and then spun to point at him. "But listen, Goren. If I don't hear from you in forty-eight hours, I'm showing up at your door. Forty-eight hours!"

I didn't wait to hear an insincere apology. I got into the car, started the engine and pulled out without looking back at him.

Idiot.

I was an idiot, too, to care so much about him.

.


	16. Off Eggshells

**OFF EGGSHELLS**

_Setting: during S07/E13 Betrayed_

* * *

"What are you staring at? Is my hair sticking up crazy or something like that?" Eames grinned and ran her fingers through her hair.

"No, I, I... It's fine, it's..." I looked down at my desk blotter. Was she actually being friendly, or was she about to snipe at me again?

"So is Chinese food okay?" she asked, picking up her phone. "We don't have time to go out."

"Yeah. Okay."

For all the years we worked together, I was never afraid of Eames – until now. I'd finally earned my way out of suspension, but my own partner didn't welcome me back. All I wanted was to reach equilibrium on the job again, but it wasn't happening.

At the moment I was just trying not to do or say anything that would annoy her.

"I don't know who creeps me out worse," Eames said as she dialed. "Roy Hubert's fake tan and muscles are a plastic shell, and I'm afraid to think what's inside. But Trina – she's attracted to all that?" She shuddered.

"Yeah," I said. "She's, uh..."

Eames turned her attention to the person on the other end of the phone.

When Captain Ross had called us in to look for Kathy Jarrow's husband, Eames had been downright hostile to me – she'd practically asked Ross to let her go it alone. It turned out to be more of an investigation than just a runaway husband, but she still kept trying to ditch me.

I was realizing how much I need her. My brother Frank was useless, and for all I knew, Donny ran to Canada when he escaped from Tates. If Eames walked away, I'd have no one. That scared me more than anything – including when I'd lost Mom.

I knew I was messed up personally – it had been coming on for a long time – but I could always do the job. During this investigation I actually started doubting my instincts. Eames seemed to enjoy it when I hesitated or stumbled over my words. She'd poked fun at me throughout the years; however, it wasn't done in good humor this time.

But now she'd thrown me off balance again. She offered to call for take-out, as though everything was normal between us.

I'd gotten to the point of preparing myself mentally in case she requested a different partner, but suddenly Eames' anger eased off. Why? The change was real – she wouldn't deceive me – but what happened to cool her temper?

"Thirty minutes," Eames said as she hung up the phone and slid the menu back into her desk drawer. "So, are you thinking Roy's not our guy? I mean, I can't stand him, but..."

Okay, if she wants to work together again, that's great.

"Yeah," I said. "His, uh, his version of revenge on Avery is cheating on her worse than she cheated on him – not killing her and her boyfriend."

"The only person looking like a suspect is..." She arched her eyebrows at me, and together we said, "Kathy Jarrow."

I quickly swiveled my chair to glance at Captain Ross' office; the door was open, but he was having a discussion with two detectives. He'd been blatantly protective of Kathy. Whenever Eames or I pointed out inconsistencies in her story, he tried to push us in another direction. His anger toward me was a clear indicator that he was letting his personal relationship get in the way.

"Yeah," Eames said. "I checked, too."

"Huh?" I swung back to her.

"The captain," she said, tilting her head toward Ross' office. "We're going to have to give him evidence he can't sweep under the rug."

We bounced ideas around for a while. I could tell by watching Eames' expression when the captain came out of his office. She rose and took her wallet out of her desk. "Let's go meet the delivery guy downstairs," she said clearly enough to be heard in case Captain Ross was paying attention.

There was no one else in the elevator with us, so I continued our discussion. "He's acting like Kathy's his girlfriend, but... I don't think they ever went out. The captain seems too, too..."

"He's fawning all over her," Eames said, nodding. "You're right; people don't treat their exes like that. I sure don't. He was still married while Kathy was a cop, wasn't he?"

I shrugged. "She might have been married then, too," I said. "How long was she married to the judge? We need to see her NYPD records."

"If the Captain doesn't run interference for her."

The elevator stopped and a few people got on, so we were quiet the rest of the way down. In the lobby, we stood near the exit doors to watch for the delivery man.

I peeked at Eames: her expression was clear and relaxed as she stared outside.

"You're not angry at me now?" I quietly asked.

I thought my question would surprise her, but she calmly shrugged. "Life's too short, and all that."

I knew if I waited she'd give me more than a clichéd reply, so I kept looking at her.

Sure enough, in another few seconds she sighed and added, "It's just... I had to slog through six months without you, and then... well, instead of throwing a Welcome Back party, it was a five-alarm disaster."

"Yeah."

"So..." Eames shoved her hands into her pockets and hunched her shoulders. "Nursing the grudge worked for a while, but I want us to be partners. I'm done beating you up for the undercover and all that. I understand why you did it."

That was a big relief to me, but my curiosity wasn't satisfied. "Did, did something particular... I mean, why now?" I asked. "Because, up till yesterday..."

She finished the sentence for me. "Up till yesterday I was at DEFCON One." She turned to face me square-on. "It's kind of dumb, but it was that skeevy interview with Trina that did it."

I froze, because everything Tina had said during her interview was full of sexual references, to the point I'd moved away from the table to avoid encouraging her. What was Eames talking about?

She saw my hesitation and added, "It's nothing weird or kinky, Bobby. It's... Do you remember when she called you Bullwinkle?"

"Yes." I hadn't been sure if there was some double entendre, so I'd let it pass. Besides, I was used to ignoring insults and jabs from suspects. "What about it?" I asked.

"It was a stupid diversion tactic, but..." Eames looked out the door again as she said, "It bugged me that this... this... woman..." She took a deep breath. "It's like when I was a kid. I used to have these awful fights with Jackie – pulling hair, yelling, you name it. But if anyone else was mean to her, I forgot all our arguments and jumped in on her side."

I smiled at the thought of young Alex defending her sister, and felt honored that she had the same reaction on my behalf.

"Thanks, Eames," I said. "Bullwinkle, huh?"

She snorted a quick laugh. "I know, of all things! And... here comes our delivery guy – dibs on the hot and sour soup."

.


	17. Small Step

**SMALL STEP**

_Setting: after S07/E22 Frame_

* * *

If anyone was watching they'd think I was crazy. I stood outside Bobby's door for what felt like five minutes, arguing with myself whether I should knock or go home, and wondering whether Bobby would even let me in.

It was the weight of the plastic grocery bags that finally forced the decision – my fingers were starting to lose circulation. I knocked.

He didn't look surprised or unhappy to see me. In fact, he looked completely numb. Without speaking he stood back and held the door open for me to enter.

I went to the kitchen and slung the bags up onto the table and counter. I'd practiced a speech to explain why I'd come, why I'd brought food, and why he should let me cook dinner in his kitchen. I'd hardly ever been inside his apartment, and here I was, barging in like a nosey neighbor – but Bobby didn't say a word.

Hey, if he had no objections and no questions it made my mission easier. After the wringer he'd been put through, I didn't expect him to be talkative. He'd had to listen to Declan Gage – his mentor, the first person to believe in him – boast about planning the murder of his brother, Frank. I'd felt like throwing up more than once as I watched the interrogation from the observation room. I don't know how Bobby kept it together as he sat there with the evil old lunatic.

That had been almost a week ago. Three days ago I'd stood beside Bobby at the funeral mass for Frank. Captain Ross and most of the MCS detectives and staff came. Jimmy Deakins came. Jackie drove Dad there, and I saw some cops from Narcotics. Even though it was a short ceremony, I was glad to see so many people who came to support Bobby.

I peeked into the refrigerator – it wasn't completely empty, but the only fresh foods were a few apples, and they looked well past peak. Good thing I'd brought everything I needed for this dinner. At least the refrigerator was clean, with nothing that looked like a science experiment in progress.

Bobby watched passively as I unpacked my groceries: a box of spaghetti, ground meat, fresh veggies, cans of diced tomatoes and a few other things. When I began searching for utensils and pans, he pointed or else pulled the item from the shelves for me, but other than that he kept his distance and let me do what I wanted.

"Is it okay if I cut onions on this board?" I asked, and looked over my shoulder at him. He shrugged, but then reached around me to grab a small white plastic cutting board. "Thanks," I said. "I have a separate board, too. I want to cut up strawberries later, and I'd rather not have them taste like onions and garlic."

I diced the onions and slid them into a large bowl, and then started cutting green, red and yellow peppers and adding them to the bowl.

"Is, is this a family recipe?" Bobby asked, finally breaking his silence. "Your mom's?"

I smiled and shook my head as I kept working. "Actually, it's from the cooking channel. There's this show where professional chefs compete, but instead of fancy restaurant dishes they make basic food that normal people can make at home, like spaghetti sauce. This one was a winner."

He came closer to lean on the kitchen counter. "Do you make it a lot?" he asked.

"No, see, the show was only on the other night," I said, "so this will be my first attempt." I tore off a paper towel and wiped my hands, and then pulled a folded paper out of my back pocket. "This is the recipe." I didn't mention that the whole idea for my invasion today had come to me as I watched that cooking show.

"Can I help?" he asked.

I handed him the recipe. "I thought you'd never ask."

* * *

There was a little wine left in the bottle. Bobby poured some into my glass and drained the last drops into his.

"This is good wine," he said.

"It's dumb luck," I replied. "I only bought it to use for the sauce recipe. That turned out okay, too."

"No, it was great," he said, lifting his glass and touching the rim to mine. "Thanks, Eames."

"I'll leave you the recipe – and the leftovers."

We finished off the wine and leaned back in our chairs at his little kitchen table. I didn't usually stuff myself like this, and I needed some deep breaths. Bobby had hardly spoken during dinner, but he looked a hundred percent better than when he'd first opened the door: he was relaxed, alert and... well, not happy, but at least content for the moment.

"So," he said, looking at me in his serious, focused interrogation mode. "What do you think? Is it safe to leave me alone?"

"Oh, if that was the question," I said, "I'd have been here a week ago. This was to satisfy my nosey curiosity – I kept wondering how long your beard was, and whether you were surviving on beans straight out of the can." That was all true; also, I'd missed him.

He scrubbed his fingers against his jaw, which was covered in a short scruff. "Yeah, I gave up shaving. I saw you check the garbage, so you know that answer, too."

I chuckled and stabbed at the last strawberry in the bowl. Had I really expected he wouldn't see me peek into the trash? It had been full of take-out containers – no surprise there.

"Are you going to take the time off?" I asked. Captain Ross had offered him two weeks of paid leave beyond the standard leave for death of a family member. I didn't like the prospect of Bobby disappearing for any length of time, but if he could use the break to work through grieving – or whatever he needed to do – it'd be worth managing without him.

"Some, I guess."

Something about Bobby's expression and the way he shrugged told me he had something in mind already. I held off for a few seconds, to see if he was going to elaborate... Nothing.

Okay, maybe a little push would work. I leaned my elbows on the table. "Where're you going?" I asked.

That started him fidgeting with the silverware, which meant he actually had a plan. I smiled at him. "What," I said. "A Caribbean cruise?"

He smiled and shook his head. "It's nothing definite. I might... My mom never really kept in touch with her relatives, and she didn't talk about them much. But..." He was getting really agitated now.

My heart swelled for Bobby. All these years, I'd only ever seen the dysfunctional members of his family. I'd be happy for him to find some normal people in the family tree.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "A couple weeks ago, before..." He cleared his throat. "Before Frank... I, I, it was my Mom's birthday, and I was looking through her photo album. On the back of some pictures... there were names."

"Relatives?"

"Mm-hmm. I did a little research, and I sent letters to some of them. They're around my age... second cousins, I think."

"I have a ton of second cousins," I said. "Hey, that's great if you can get in touch. But... you didn't find phone numbers, email addresses?"

He shrugged. "A letter in the mail is easier – they can decide if they want to be in contact. I gave them my phone and email," he said.

"I bet they'll be glad to meet their NYPD cousin."

He rose and started picking up the dirty dishes. "If it doesn't work out, I might go north to Maine. A buddy has a hunting cabin, and I could... do nothing for a while."

"I hope one of your cousins comes through," I said. I collected the silverware and glasses and went to the sink.

"You don't have to wash," Bobby said.

"It's all part of the package," I replied. "Dinner, conversation and clean-up. Actually, part of the package was also inviting you to dinner at my place next week, but now I'm rooting for your cousins instead."

As we washed and dried and put away the dishes, Bobby drew back into his cone of silence, but that was okay. I didn't need to squeeze out more information about the new cousins. The reason I'd come was to reassure myself that he was okay, or at least on the way to being okay.

I'd needed this visit as much as he did.

.


	18. Back Into The Water

**BACK INTO THE WATER**

_Setting: after S08/E03 Identity Crisis_

* * *

"I'm okay, Eames," I said.

She frowned as she nodded slowly. "Can't blame me for wondering, though."

Eames was concerned about me, and not completely without cause. It was a coincidence that we'd been investigating a case involving two brothers who grew up with a schizophrenic mother. The similarity to my life's story ended there.

"I know, but..." I reached across the table to pat her arm. "It's not me and Frank."

In the past I'd often immersed myself into the emotional idiosyncrasies of our suspects. It helped me get past their defenses to find the truth. I thought I was keeping it impersonal, but each time I was weighed down a little more. Looking back, the effect was an accumulating burden on my mind and heart.

A year ago I'd have been quick to identify with the Burris brothers. But when my own brother was murdered, it was the figurative last straw: the camel's back broke. Declan thought he freed me to engage again, but instead I wanted to withdraw.

Captain Ross had offered me two weeks of personal leave, but I didn't use it – I was ready to work again. The difference since returning was that I kept an emotional distance between me and the people we were investigating.

Eames hadn't said anything about it, but it was easy to see she'd noticed the change. I didn't want her hovering over me with worry. I felt okay. I was getting the job done.

She looked at me intensely for a few seconds, and then leaned back in her chair. "I believe you," she said. "Sooo, tell me again why we have to sit here after we got the confession?"

"Mmm, red tape?"

"Oh, right – my favorite color."

We were in a police station in Cape Cod, waiting for the Massachusetts State Police to finish processing Thomas Burris through their system. After we captured Burris, Eames had spent most of the ferry ride from Nantucket back to Hyannis talking on the phone with our captain. Ross began working on extradition of Burris back to New York; until it came through we couldn't take him into NYPD custody.

Eames and I didn't want to delay the interrogation, and the local police had agreed to let us do it here.

Burris had been trying all his life to recreate himself. But when Anthony appeared, Thomas was afraid his brother would drag him back into his miserable, failed, real identity. He killed Anthony and immediately created another character for himself – another happy illusion.

My plan was to destroy the illusion by showing Thomas the real story of his mother's death. It worked. Once he recognized that there was no basis in reality for his anger against Anthony, and that Anthony had actually been asking for forgiveness and reconciliation, Thomas' façade crumbled.

Finally a female officer joined us in the interrogation room. She handed Eames a video cassette. "Here's your copy, detectives," she said. "Good job on the interrogation. My captain says you're bringing Burris down to New York?"

"That's the plan," Eames said. "Is he ready to go?"

"Not yet. Actually, it might take till tomorrow to work out the extradition," the officer said. "You know... paperwork."

"All those poor innocent trees..." Eames held out her business card. "Can you let us know when it comes through?" she asked.

"Will do," the officer said. "If you're staying, most places in town give a discount for police."

* * *

We left the police station, but didn't bother getting into the car yet. Eames paced as she called Captain Ross. She updated him on Burris' confession and the delay in extradition. But then her expression darkened, and she stopped in her tracks.

"Uhh, the interrogation went fine," she said. "We have the video, so you'll get to see." As she listened she glanced over at me with a roll of her eyes. "You'd have to ask him about that yourself, sir."

I knew that protective look: Eames felt that I'd been insulted or attacked unfairly. She took a deep breath and said, "All I can tell you is that we had good cooperation from the state and local police, we followed procedures, and the interrogation was successful. Burris wrote out his confession." Her voice was tight and controlled.

Was Ross criticizing her about how we interrogated Burris? I was glad she was the one talking to him – she was a lot better at not telling him off.

"Captain," she said, looking very annoyed. "That really won't be necessary. All we need to know right now is whether you want us to wait or come back without Burris... All right. Yes, sir." She snapped the phone shut.

I waited for her to count to ten, or whatever she did to cool down. Finally she gave me a grim smile.

"What'd he say?" I asked.

"He said he'll get back to me. Come on – let's take a walk." She headed out of the police parking lot fast enough that it took me half the block to catch up.

"Eames?"

She slowed down a little, but kept quiet until we came to a point on the street that looked downhill to the ferry terminal. We had a view of the harbor and docks. She stopped, and for a while we watched as cars drove off the ferry that was tied up at the dock. A long line of cars was waiting to board.

"What's the saying?" Eames asked. "Just when you thought it was safe to go back in the water...?"

"That's funny," I said, "because Jaws was filmed in this area, on Martha's Vineyard."

She smiled at me. She knew that fact, of course. I asked, "Are we in trouble with the Captain?"

"No, but it's probably just as well we're five hours away from One PP."

"Because...?" I studied her face. She was angry, but also embarrassed.

She continued. "Captain Ross... ah, is concerned that the Burris family situation might, um, feel too familiar."

"To me?" I hated it when our captain played psychologist.

"I feel guilty for asking you the same thing not even an hour ago. Sorry." She turned away.

"No, Alex – it's not the same thing," I said, touching her shoulder. "That was just between us. I knew why you were asking. But the Captain..." I'd given up expecting consistency from him – sometimes he was my best defender, and other times he was the first to criticize me.

"The Captain shouldn't assume the worst!" she said. "And I hate it that he expects me to report on you as though you were a rookie!"

We were back to that again? I felt my temper rise.

"They're not going to wait for me to screw up," I said. "I mean... How many psych evaluations do I have to pass?" I might have sounded paranoid, but I trusted Eames to understand me.

"It's an excuse," she said. "It's something they hide behind, because you don't play their games, their politics. I wish the Captain would stand up to the Chief of D's, because you know this comes from him. For what it's worth, Ross has come to respect you."

I shrugged. It wasn't worth much if he didn't act on it.

"Anyway," she said on a sigh. "Since we have to wait to find out if we're staying or going, NYPD is going to buy us dinner: the biggest lobsters and the thickest steaks we can find." She nodded her head back toward town. "You in?"

Eames was always decisive, but it went to the highest levels when she was hungry.

"What're you smiling about?" she asked.

"Surf and turf," I said.

"Aren't you hungry, too?"

"Yes, yes. It just reminded me... When you were expecting–"

"Oh, geez – why did I ask!" she said, but she was smiling.

"No, no. Before that, you were... You always went for salads. But you needed protein for the baby."

"I know – I got pretty desperate for meat," Eames said. "How many times did I drag you to a deli for my roast beef fix? You know what's funny? Jonathan loves it, too – thin-sliced and medium well-done, just the way I like it."

We heard the blast of a boat's horn, and we turned to look at the docks again. Another ferry was approaching.

"It's probably coming in from Martha's Vineyard," I said.

We watched quietly for a while, and I was surprised when Eames linked her arm in mine.

At another time I would have tightened my arm to keep her close, or slipped my arm around her waist. We'd gradually come to an unspoken arrangement: if we were sure we wouldn't be caught, we'd bend the fraternization rule a little; sometimes we bent it a little more.

But today I just stood still.

Fraternizing wasn't as much of a temptation lately. I still cared for Alex, but it occurred to me that my emotional disengagement wasn't only from the people we investigated. Professionally we were in tune. I knew I ought to pay attention to our private relationship – but I didn't have the emotional energy to do it.

She looked up at me. "You okay?" she asked.

"Yeah," I said, and then shrugged. I wasn't completely okay, but it was hard to explain. "Getting there."

"This is me, Bobby." She spoke softly, as though she was being careful not to provoke me. "I know it's not about Thomas Burris or Ross or even the Chief of D's. It's about... this?" She squeezed my arm and then let go.

Alex had jumped directly to the place I'd been hoping to avoid. I rubbed the back of my neck as I tried to think of a good reply.

"Don't get all twisted up," she said. "I'm not making demands or anything. We are not – not! – splitting up as partners. But if you'd rather we didn't... carry on, as my dad says..."

"It's not... That's not what I'm..." I mentally grasped for words. "Alex, I'm not trying to, to, to walk away from you. It's just that I'm still... recovering from..." I swung my arms around. "Everything. Frank. My mom. Declan."

Her lips were pressed tightly as she nodded. "Recovering. Present tense?"

"What? You don't think...?"

"I think you recovered to a certain point," she said. "You did. But then... you stopped."

I started to feel annoyed at her. Did she expect me to bounce back as though nothing had happened? What kind of normal was she waiting for?

She held up her hands. "Don't get me wrong. Forget the psychiatrists or counselors – you know I'm no fan. But we need to enjoy life, at least once in a while. That's where you're going to find your recovery – not sitting in the office of some shrink. To me, it looks like you haven't done that."

I couldn't argue with that thought. "You, uh, for you it's your nephew and your family."

"Yes," she said, "but even at a... a lower level, I try to look for things that put me in a good mood."

"So, you're talking about... steak and lobster?"

Eames chuckled. "Yes, for today. Definitely. And also... Did you ever hear back from those second cousins you wrote to?"

That question was completely out of the blue, so much so that I had to take a step backward. My hand moved involuntarily to the inside breast pocket of my suit – that was where I carried the only letter I'd gotten.

Of course she noticed my telltale action. "You did! Am I allowed to know?" she asked.

I didn't take out the envelope, which I'd been carrying around for two weeks. "It's, it's, he lives in Michigan," I said. "And... you know, wife, children. They live on a farm." His wife was the one who'd replied; she said they were eager to meet me.

Eames smiled broadly. "That's great, Bobby, it's so great!"

Was it? Even though I'd made initial contact, I was having second thoughts about meeting them. I shoved my hands into my pockets.

She looked right up into my face. She said, "They invited you to visit."

I nodded a Yes.

"But... But what?" Eames moved a step closer, keeping eye contact. "You're getting cold feet?"

I shrugged.

"Bobby, it's up to you. If something doesn't feel right..."

"No, they seem very nice," I said.

"Good. So give them a try," she said. "Go milk the cows or drive a tractor for a few days. How bad can it be?" She rested her hands on my arms. "And then come back home."

Eames was treating me better than I deserved. I'd closed her off lately. I didn't want to talk about my relatives, but here she was acting as though everything was normal between us. I knew I should be more open with her, but when a chance came along I couldn't make myself do it.

The best I do at the moment was to show her affection. I gently pulled her into my arms and kissed the top of her head. I felt her arms go around my waist.

"Thanks," I said. "And sorry. I haven't been good at... communicating. I'll try to, uh, recover a little faster." I squeezed her. "Surf and turf... and clam chowder?"

She laughed and kissed my shirt. "Now you're talking sense."

I'd been leaning toward not going to Michigan, but in that moment I wanted to meet my cousin and his family.

I also determined that I wanted to treat Eames better. I probably wouldn't be any better at communicating, but I could do something nice for her. She had a grill at her place; some day I'd bring over some steaks.

Beef was always a good choice with Alex.

.


	19. To Tell The Truth

**TO TELL THE TRUTH**

_Setting: after S08/E11 Lady's Man_

* * *

I've been lying.

There's nothing new about that – I learned very early in life that lies protected me and others from a lot of pain and trouble. It's important to know the truth, but lies are useful. They're necessary.

I always had to lie to my mother. Once in a while I would try to reason with her rationally, but it was usually best to tell her what she wanted to hear.

As a child, Frank was the first person I trusted with my honesty, but when he started doing drugs I couldn't trust him with anything.

It never mattered whether I was truthful with my dad. He didn't notice me unless it was advantageous for him. We hardly talked, so...

Aside from the religious aspect, my reasoning has always been that lies can be used to achieve a good result. This is definitely true for police work – to outsiders it might seem counterintuitive, but detectives tell lies to bring out the truth.

For most of my life, deceit worked very well... until Eames. My problems with lying are all related to her.

Right from the start I admired Eames' integrity. Of course, she understands the needs of police investigations; she's as good at leading and misleading suspects as anybody. But outside the interrogation room she was truthful. In fact, I'd thought more than once that when it came to moving ahead in the department, her honesty might have held her back as much as being associated with me.

My partner was honest, but not necessarily open. I never held that against her, considering how secretive I was about my own family. Before she was pregnant with Jonathan I knew that her dad had been a cop, and that she was a cop's widow – and that was about all. Her nephew was the starting point; she gradually shared more of her life with me. It's thanks to her that we're as close as we are.

The nearest Eames ever came to lying to me was her reluctance to talk about ADA Kevin Mulrooney. Once she got over the shock of Mulrooney's bizarre and underhanded attacks on her, she was honest about their past relationship – which helped us piece together the clues to solve the murder.

My habit of lying goes deep; it gives me a sense of control and security. Over the years I made efforts to be more honest with Eames – usually when she nudged or when I'd used my family history to coax information out of a suspect. I knew she deserved my openness and honesty.

However...

There's openness and honesty, and then there's the way I've been treating Eames. It's completely illogical. If I expect transparency I should be transparent. I count on her being candid with me, but I find it so hard to tell her the truth about myself. I knew I needed to change – if I could figure out how to begin after a lifetime of hiding the truth.

My internal quandary was the main reason I was still in the MCS squad room long after we'd finished booking Mulrooney.

He'd requested a public pro bono lawyer. Two of his fellow attorneys arrived at the same time: one to defend him and one to lead the prosecution against him. Once Kevin realized the strength of our evidence, his smugness deflated. It was likely he'd accept whatever plea deal they offered.

Eames stumbled out of here about an hour ago. We were pretty sure Mulrooney had broken into her home, and a Crime Scene unit was scheduled to go through the place for fingerprints and other evidence. I'd suggested that she stay at her sister's house tonight.

Since Eames left I'd been contemplating what I could do to show her how much I trust her, and to let her know she can trust me, too. I hadn't come up with much beyond cooking dinner for her... sometime.

Finally I admitted I was in a mental rut. It was nearly eleven PM. I needed fresh air. I locked up my desk and grabbed my coat to go home. On a whim I took the stairs down instead of the elevator.

There's another more recent habit that's become deeply ingrained: every time I enter the One PP parking deck I need to locate Eames' car. Ever since Jo Gage put Eames' Toyota in the deck with a body in the trunk (my heart still races at the memory when I thought it was Alex), it's been a reflex for me to check her usual spot.

As soon as I stepped out of the stairwell – even though I knew she was gone – my eye went to the area where she parked.

I stopped so short I almost tripped myself.

Her car was there – and I could see Eames sitting inside!

For close to a full minute I watched her. There was a row of cars between us, so my view was partially blocked, but I could see she was looking straight ahead at nothing - at a cement wall. She slowly rubbed her hands over the steering wheel, and then wiped her cheek.

It was close to an hour since she'd left the squad room. Had she been sitting there in her cold car the whole time?

Chances were she wouldn't be happy to see me, but I approached the passenger side of her car, bent down to look in, and tapped on the window.

I'd been right – she glanced over at me with a grimace. But I heard the thump of the locks, so I opened the door and got in.

Eames didn't say a word. I took my time getting settled into the passenger seat, and she went back to staring at the brick wall. The muscles of her jaw were flexing.

Even though I'd spent the last hour thinking about what to say, I was only confident about what I shouldn't say. Don't ask how she's doing. Don't mention Mulrooney or anything about the investigation. Don't feel sorry for her. Don't ask her to talk about her feelings. Don't ask her out for a drink.

I gave myself a mental shake. Here was exactly what I wanted: a chance to open my heart to Alex. I started talking about the first thing that came to mind.

"When I came home from Tates," I said, and her head snapped to the right. Her eyes opened wide. "When you brought me home after... from the hospital. No, uh, wait." I had to start this earlier. "I mean, when I was inside, in the, in the part they call Heaven."

Alex turned her body toward me. I was tempted to look away from her intensity – but that would be shutting her out. I maintained eye contact.

"The, uh, the prison psychologist," I said. "A woman – she was using sodium pentothal or, or... and I was having trouble sticking to my cover story. It worked, though; she was buying the whole schizophrenic thing. But then the warden walked in, with the guards around her, like, like... like they were mobsters. You know, thugs."

"They were thugs," she said. "Scum."

"I mean, that was why I went in there – to, to get into the, uh, the Heaven section." Talking about it – more than a year later – was almost as disturbing as it had been in reality. "But, the, the complete loss of control... over everything. I expected that, and I knew... I'd prepared methods to keep myself mentally in control. But..."

I needed to pause. Here was another bad memory that affected me physically. I loosened my collar and rubbed my eyes.

When I looked at Alex, she held out a hand. I gripped it. The car seemed small and confining, but her touch helped me to breathe a little easier.

Three minutes ago I'd been focused on helping my partner. At the moment I had no idea where this discussion was going.

Was this what openness and honesty felt like? It didn't feel good, but it was too late to turn back.

I cleared my throat and continued, "All I could think about was water, and what I could say to make them give me a drink. It was... I knew... I could see what they were doing, their method of, of..."

"Torture," Alex said, squeezing my hand.

"It was all about thirst. It took over my thoughts, and, uh, actually, my whole body," I said. "The only way I could survive it was to withdraw into myself. Or, in a way, out of myself. It's hard to explain."

"You were in bad shape" she said. I could see she was reliving her own fear. "When the Captain and I got there, you were out of it."

"I knew you were there, but I couldn't, I didn't have the energy..."

"You couldn't respond," she said. "Yeah, I got that. So, this withdrawing... It was still going on when I drove you home?"

I lightly kissed the back of her hand. This woman was a genius. "I wasn't intentionally hurting you. It was... All my responses were delayed. You were angry, and I'm sorry for that."

"I know," she said. "I appreciate you telling me all this, but..." She sighed and put both hands back on the steering wheel. "I can't return the favor. I can't talk about Mulrooney."

"Don't," I said. "Don't. It's just that... In the investigation I was pushing for information about, about..." I stopped myself. She didn't want to talk about it. "And you were a lot better about it than I ever was... I'm not good at... at telling you about myself."

She chuckled. "You think? But we're okay – really, we are."

"Thanks." It was a relief to know that.

We were quiet for a while. I checked the time: eleven-fifteen.

I asked, "Did you call your sister about staying with her tonight?"

Alex shook her head.

"Is it too late to call her?"

She shrugged. "Nah, they usually stay up to watch the beginning of Letterman. I just don't want to, uh... I mean, she'll want to know why..."

Her reluctance was understandable.

"Or," I said, "you could stay with me."

She put both hands on her face. For a second I thought she was laughing; no, she was trying not to cry. I wanted to comfort her, but it was better to let her decide what happened next, since I wasn't sure why she was crying.

There was a plastic-wrapped pack of tissues stuck in the cup holder; she tugged one out and blew her nose. I rubbed her shoulder lightly.

"Bobby, thanks, but if we're..." She sniffed and wiped her eyes. "Even if you just mean stay, and not... you know..."

A flush of heat went up my neck and face. "I didn't, I mean, I just meant, a, a, a place to sleep. Not with me!" A little voice at the back of my mind told me I wasn't telling Alex the whole truth, so I added, "I don't mean never... Uh..." I couldn't muster up any more honesty than that.

Now she did laugh – for a second, at least, before it turned into crying again.

I still didn't know how to respond, so I waited.

"Bobby," she finally said, "If we ever do... do it..." She took a deep breath. "Well, it's not going to be under circumstances like this. No pity, no apologies, no regrets, nothing like that."

I caught Alex's hand and said, "Come here." When she turned toward me I leaned close and gave her a kiss. "No pity, just... all the respect in the world." I touched her cheek. "You're the best cop – the best person – I ever knew."

"Thanks." Her smile was still a little teary. She needed the tissue one more time, and then she said, "Well, now that we have that settled, I'd better call Jackie, because it's freezing in this car!"

"Let me call her for you," I said. "I won't tell her about, well about anything. I'll just ask her if it's okay for you to come."

"All right, and make sure the first thing you say to her is that I'm fine and nobody's injured, or she'll freak out."

I smiled at Alex as I pulled out my phone. "We don't want any freaking out."

Alex punched my leg. "Been there. Done that."

.


	20. Bad Timing

**BAD TIMING**

_Setting: 2-3 months after S09/E02 Loyalty_

* * *

My cell phone beeped in my pocket and I dug it out to look. Damn! I'd missed a call from Bobby. I checked the time on the call: more than two hours ago. Damn. I'd been inside a building that blocked all external wireless signals.

We hadn't spoken often in the months since we'd both left Major Case and NYPD, so I was upset that I missed him.

Bobby hadn't left a voice message, but I saw that he'd sent a text message. It said, "_Job offer from cid_."

I should have been happy for him. It was good that he'd have an income, but the Army CID would probably want him at the Pentagon. I didn't like Bobby leaving New York City.

Then again, who was I to complain? Here I was in Albany on a project for my new job. The session with the clients had gone very well, and I'd been all happy and proud – and then the bottom dropped out of my stomach when I saw Bobby's message.

When Bobby and I left NYPD, my dad (after he had a conniption fit about my resignation) contacted one of his retired cop friends who runs a security company; he immediately offered both me and Bobby positions. I took the job and started right after Christmas, but Bobby said he'd put out feelers to his own buddy network, which kind of annoyed me. Didn't he want to keep working with me?

In any case, I was glad he'd called. I hurried through swirling snow flurries to the parking lot where my company car was dusted with white. I didn't bother brushing off the snow – I got in and dialed Bobby.

He picked up before the second ring. "Alex, thanks for calling back."

"Congratulations, Sargent Goren."

"I'll be a contractor," he said. "No rank or anything."

"That's what I figured. So! Uncle Sam wants you back."

He chuckled. "Yeah, I have a buddy who's a Lieutenant Colonel; I contacted him after we, uh, left Major Case."

"How far from New York is he taking you? Because I'm pretty sure the Army doesn't have much going on in Brooklyn."

"Uh..."

Bobby got so quiet that I wondered if I'd lost the connection. I waited a few seconds and then asked, "You still there?"

"Yeah. Can I meet you somewhere? Are you at work now?"

Damn. If he needed to tell me in person, then CID was definitely moving him out of the city. "I'm upstate," I said. "In Albany."

"Oh. How soon will you be back?"

"Ahh, not sure," I said. "I missed your call because I was giving a training session for a customer. Tomorrow I give the same class at their Syracuse site, and then on to beautiful downtown Buffalo. Between all that and the weather, I probably won't be back until Friday."

There was another long silence.

"Bobby?"

"CID has someone under arrest – a Corporal – and they want me to interrogate him. They think he's got... connections."

"Connections to terrorists?"

"They didn't tell me much," he said. "But they want me to leave right away – my flight is tomorrow night."

Flights that leave at night generally end up in Europe. "Leave for where?" I asked, and then held my breath.

"Germany."

It was unreasonable, but I was angry – at Bobby, at the Army, at the world! If he left the country, who knew when I'd see him again? It was bad enough not seeing each other when we were only in different boroughs – now we'd be on different continents!

"How long?" My voice sounded harsh, so I cleared my throat and tried again. "How long will you be there?" Not much better – now it was high and shaky.

"It's... the contract's for a year," he said, and his voice sounded off, too. Good. I hoped he was miserable. If it hurt me for him to leave for so long, it ought to hurt him too. "Germany's the intelligence base for all Middle East operations, so..."

"Damn." Stupid me – why hadn't I made more of an effort to see him?

"Yeah. I only found out last night, and I was hoping we could..."

My mind was racing to all sorts of impossible scenarios – ditch this job and drive straight to Brooklyn; call Syracuse to reschedule, and then fly there tomorrow or the next day. But this was my first solo project for the company – I couldn't screw it up.

I said, "There's not enough time." I needed to blink hard and concentrate for a few seconds to keep from crying. "You're leaving tomorrow for a year, Bobby! What about your apartment? What about all your stuff?"

"I'm, I, I already contacted a real estate agency... To sublet. And I don't have that much stuff, although... I guess I should..."

He sounded like he was just realizing how much had to be done before he stepped onto that plane. What he needed was someone to help him pack his books and things, redirect his mail, maybe rent a public storage unit, and do a dozen other things. I needed to be there!

My anger and frustration now morphed into determination as I focused on Bobby's situation. If I couldn't be there myself, I could still help him.

I sat up straighter. "Bobby, I really wish I could be there, but I can't back out on this project."

"I know, it's okay," he said.

"No, it's not, but I have an idea: I'm going to call my sister, and she'll be glad to help–"

"No, Alex, it's too much to ask."

"Shut up, Goren," I said, my voice rising to a shout. "I am going to call Jackie – and my brother, too. You absolutely cannot get this done by yourself. Your Army buddy is insane to think anyone could wrap up his life and fly to Germany in less than forty-eight hours!"

"But they're busy," he said. I could tell from his voice he wanted them to come. "They can't just drop everything."

"Partners are family. They'll come. Besides, I'm afraid you might leave the burners going on the stove or something idiotic like that. Is it snowing there?"

"No."

"Good." I checked the time. "Jackie can pick up Jonathan from school, and the two of them can be at your place by four o'clock. Mike might even come, too."

"Alex..."

"You saw her when I moved – remember? She made a checklist, labeled all the boxes... This is the only way you're going to make it. I'll tell Danny to come in his pick-up truck – he can bring boxes."

He sniffed. "Thanks. I'm sorry I won't see you."

"Bobby..." My throat tightened up, and I closed my eyes. "I'm so angry at myself - I should've come to visit, and now..."

"It's my fault," he said. "So many times I thought about calling you, but I just... put it off."

I couldn't speak. I kept my eyes shut and pressed the phone harder against my ear.

Bobby said, "We can email, or maybe chat online..."

I had a sinking feeling that emails or video chats would last for a month – maybe. But right now I had to hope we'd keep it up. I refused to lose this man.

I swallowed hard. "I'm going to miss you, Bobby, so much. It was one thing, knowing you were just a few miles away..."

We struggled through a few more minutes of conversation, and sadly hung up.

I intended to call Jackie right away, but I started crying and couldn't even see my phone's display.

My family would get to spend the afternoon, evening and most of tomorrow with Bobby, while I had to drive to Syracuse in the snow.

How bad would it be if I asked my sister to kiss Bobby goodbye for me? No. They'd both flip out – for different reasons.

What a swell day this turned out to be.

Damn.

.


	21. You Call This Keeping In Touch?

**YOU CALL THIS KEEPING IN TOUCH?**

_Setting: 10-11 months after S09/E02 Loyalty_

* * *

"Are you going to quit?" Jackie asked. "Wait, let me reword that. When are you going to quit?"

I didn't bother acting surprised. I looked at my sister and shrugged.

I would never complain about my job with the security company – the pay and benefits were good, the hours were decent, and at times it was interesting. But... Compared to the challenges of the Major Case Squad, my position as a security analyst was too tame, too predictable, too limited for me. I'd begun thinking of it as my interim job.

And there was one other tiny little issue: I missed Bobby. A lot. All the time.

It was amazing how many things set off a painful twinge: seeing a man tilt his head to the side; hearing anyone being called 'Bobby'; seeing a man write with his left hand; driving in the car alone and looking at the passenger who wasn't there.

Jackie and I were at a mall in New Jersey, doing early Christmas shopping. Now that Jonathan was in elementary school, and now that I had a somewhat normal job, it was easier to make time in our schedules for this tradition. Okay, I admit it: there were a few things I liked about my interim job.

She said, "At least you should take some time off and go to Germany."

"What!"

"Why not? Is your passport expired?"

I shook my head. "It's good for another five years. But I just started this job!"

"No, see, it's getting close to a year, and I know for a fact they gave you lots of vacation days. You're allowed to use more than a day for shopping, you know. What city is he in?"

No need to ask whom she was talking about. I said, "He moves around to different bases. The only one I remember is Stuttgart. He's..." I spread my arms. "He's in demand all over the country – pretty much everyone he interrogates opens up and spills his guts."

"Well, I'm sure they included vacation days in his contract, too," Jackie said. "I bet he'd come and meet you at the airport."

I shook my head. "Jackie, we hardly write to each other, and you're talking about me showing up on his doorstep?"

"Wait – I thought you guys... How often does he write?"

"He only writes back to me after I write to him, and it's just a few lines," I said. "If I don't write, neither does he."

She'd been looking at Lego sets, but she set down the box in her hand and turned with her hands on her hips. "And so you quit writing because he didn't write first?"

It was embarrassing to be caught in such junior high behavior – but when did correspondence become only my responsibility? I said, "Look, he's so successful over there, maybe they'll double his salary and keep him another year. For all I know he wants to stay."

"Oh geez, you are such an idiot!" Jackie hitched up her purse on her shoulder and pushed past me. "Come on, I need coffee to deal with this insanity."

She huffed all the way to the mall's food court. When we got settled at a table she squared off and took a deep breath, but I held up my hand.

"Jackie, I really don't want a lecture about me and Bobby. I know you always thought we should've gotten together, but it didn't work out that way. Okay?"

"Not really," she said, and then sighed. "All right, no lecture. But let me ask you some questions."

I rolled my eyes. There was no escaping this.

"Come on, Alex, you know I'm not just snooping! You know I love you, and I care about Bobby, too!"

She was right – I was being defensive and stupid and hostile. "Sorry," I said. "Go on, ask."

"Okay, so... Do you wish you were still working with him?"

"Yeah." I sipped my coffee to avoid looking her in the eye. "Very much."

She nodded. "At this job, or back with the police?"

"NYPD."

"Do you think they'd take you back?"

"Short answer: I'm not sure. I still have friends there, but Bobby and I kind of burned our bridges, you know? MCS is very different these days."

"What kind of different, and how do you know?" Jackie asked. She could have had a career as an interrogator.

"Uhh, I get a call now and then from a detective we worked with – Nichols. He likes to read our old case files, and calls me with questions. He never said anything specific, but I won't be surprised if he decides to move on."

Jackie pulled the lid off her coffee and stirred in another sugar packet. "Well, that might be good – maybe they miss you. You know Dad keeps up with news about your old department, right?"

"I try not to listen," I said, making a face.

"He thinks the new captain in there is angling for a spot in the Commissioner's office."

I shrugged. "It's amazing what a guy who sits on his butt, smoking and drinking, knows about One Police Plaza at the farthest end of the city." We both chuckled. "I admit, Dad has his secret sources, but the chances of both me and Bobby getting back into MCS... slim to none."

"But if things are changing, it's not impossible," Jackie said. "Detective Nichols would let you know if there was an opening, wouldn't he?"

"Where are we going with this?" I asked. "I mean, no one's chasing me down to come back to NYPD. And Bobby's in Germany..."

I didn't expect to choke up – an intense surge of emotion and longing caught me by surprise. I had to stop for a long moment.

"Alex, you okay?"

When I got myself under control I quietly said, "Maybe you're right about me taking some vacation time."

"Now you're talking! I'll bring in your mail and water your plants while you're gone!"

I had to laugh. "Geez, nothing like the bum's rush or anything! I did not say I was going to Germany!"

"Well, at least you can think about it," she said with her wickedest grin. "You know, go online and look at airline prices to Stuttgart."

I shook my head. "No promises – except that I'll email."

"Good! And when you write to Bobby – today! – tell him Hi from me and Mike and Jonny."

.


	22. Proceed With Caution

**PROCEED WITH CAUTION**

_Setting: after S10/E02 The Consoler_

* * *

"That," my partner said, "was the most fun I've had in a long time."

I smiled at Eames. We'd only been back in MCS for a few weeks, and everything felt new and familiar at the same time. This sensation – facing each other across our desks – was one of my favorite habits to renew. I was pretty sure I knew what she meant, but... "Fun?"

"The interrogation." She winked as she added, "The highlight was the way Captain Hannah ground his teeth while he was watching you and Johnny. It brought back memories of Captain Deakins. You know me; I get all nostalgic and sentimental."

"He ground his teeth?" I leaned back in my chair.

"Whichever captain you mean, yes. Both," she said. "For Ross it was antacids. When you pounded the table to make Johnny jump, I made believe I was worried about you. It set Captain Hannah off even worse."

"Eames," I said, "you're so bad."

"I know. I could see veins standing out on his neck."

"Is that why you didn't come in there with me?" I asked.

"Well," she said, "that, and I thought Johnny would open up sooner about being molested in high school if he didn't have to face both of us. He tried to keep up the clean-cut, nice Catholic boy façade, but he should have realized that was shot to hell a long time ago."

"It's not just him," I said. "Theresa, Monsignor Mc Teal, Natalie... they all went so far off-track."

Eames nodded. "The only deadly sin they missed was laziness."

"There must be good Catholics out there," I said.

"Plenty, but they don't end up in our interrogation rooms."

"Yeah." I scanned the booking paperwork lying across both our desks. "I'll start on these," I said, pointing at the stack closest to me, "and you work from that side, okay?"

"You want to leave this for later?"

"Huh?"

When I looked up, Eames was smirking mischievously. "The Captain's gone for the day," she said. "When was the last time we went out for a drink to close a case?" she asked.

It was a rhetorical question, but I actually knew the answer: it was it was nineteen months ago. I'd come back from a wild goose chase in Tennessee, and I was angry that my five-day trip had been four and a half days too long. Eames had worked with Nichols while I was away, which annoyed me even more. But then she suggested we meet at the Brooklyn bar near my apartment, and I completely forgot my irritation. She'd been bursting with impatience to tell me everything about the cases I'd missed. We stayed there for a couple hours – it only felt like minutes. Then we walked a few blocks to a Chinese restaurant which Eames says is her favorite in the whole city. Our good-night kiss was one of the most intense ever, and I'd been close to inviting her to stay with me; unfortunately, her sister called to ask some urgent favor, which ended our evening.

"I didn't literally mean for you to calculate how many days!" Eames said. She arched her eyebrows. "I remember the last time. You know, one day I dragged my sister to that Chinese place in your neighborhood, and she thinks it's great, too."

"Dragged?"

"Well, just that first time," she said, rising from her seat and shuffling the papers into a folder. "Now she finds excuses to go to Brooklyn, just so she can get their hot and sour soup. So... drinks. Roy's Tavern isn't far: you in?"

* * *

I hadn't seen Eames like this for a long time: she was at that endearing stage when she looked and acted sober, but her tongue was feeling the effect of alcohol. In fact, I realized that this was the very bar where I'd first noticed the trait. We'd never discussed it, but I was sure she knew all my stages of drunkenness, too.

"So, tomorrow," she said, reaching across the table to press her hand on my arm. "No, um, not tomorrow. At my dad's. Did I tell you this?"

"Mmm..." I shrugged and leaned closer. "Tell me now." She was very talkative tonight, and I was glad to reply and prompt just enough to let her keep talking. I'd missed this.

She was beautiful and happy.

"Don't stare at me like that," she said, grinning. "It makes me afraid you're going to fall asleep right here."

"I'm wide awake," I said. However, she had a point. "We should eat something. Burgers okay with you?" I signaled to the waiter.

"Good idea, since we still have to go back to all that fun paperwork. So! I was saying..." She pushed her hair behind her ear. "Can you come to my dad's house on Sunday? Like, late afternoon?"

"What's the occasion?"

"There's no birthday or anything, but we're having dinner there – Jackie's family and me. Everyone wants to see you again, if you're free."

I had nothing on my calendar – in fact, I didn't even own a calendar. I had nothing to plan besides work. Oh, there was one hour a week with the dreaded counselor, but that was on Sunday morning, and only for seven weeks. If I did have a calendar I wouldn't bother writing in those sessions, for all the good psychologists had ever done for me.

I shook off the depressing thought of mandatory counseling. At this moment I was exactly where I wanted to be.

"Sounds good," I said. If the session didn't go well, an evening with the Eameses would be therapeutic.

"Great." She patted my hand. "It's her turn to clean his house, and my turn to cook. I'm thinking I'll make my sauce recipe. D'you remember?"

"Of course. I made it once in Germany," I said, "and it smelled so good my neighbors knocked on the door to ask for a taste." I'd decided to make her recipe because I was feeling homesick for her. It didn't actually improve my mood, but at least I had some new friends.

"Good. You get to help me cook, then." She scooted her chair closer to me, caught my chin, and drew me down to her lips for a kiss. "We have a lot of catching up to do."

* * *

All I did was lay my fork and knife on my empty plate, and suddenly Jackie stabbed her finger at me from across Mr. Eames' kitchen table. "Stay right there," she said in a tone that made me lean back a little. "You and Alex did the cooking, so clean-up is Mike's and Jonathan's job – they're very experienced at loading the dishwasher. Right, Hon?"

Mike nodded. "No problem. We got the easy part, buddy."

Jonathan, who sat between me and Alex, looked like he was going to protest, but his mother gave him a sharp look. Alex ruffled his hair and whispered in his ear. I caught the word "dessert," and suddenly her nephew was eager to work. He shoved his chair back and picked up his plate.

"Ah, ah, ah!" Jackie said. "Carefully! You're not allowed to break anything, and you have to get everything stacked in the machine before you even peek into Grandpa's freezer!"

"Okay, okaaay," Jonathan said. He took my plate, too. "Come on, Daddy!"

As soon as Jonathan left, Alex slid into his seat. I had my arm stretched across the back of the chair - I pulled off as she moved closer. However, neither Jackie nor Mr. Eames even blinked at the sight of Alex leaning against me. Did it seem normal to them?

I hadn't said anything to Alex about my counseling session earlier in the day, and she hadn't asked. It didn't go very well, but at least it was over. I needed to figure out this new doctor - what words or emotions or body language she was looking for – and then convince her I was being open and honest so she'd tell the NYPD I was fit for duty.

But I didn't want to concentrate on that problem now. I'd eaten with Alex's family before, although not a formal meal like this. Was I expected to stay and chat for a while? Mr. Eames seemed content where he was - he reached into his shirt pocket for a cigarette, but Jackie stopped him.

"Dad, not in front of him!" she whispered, glancing over Mr. Eames' shoulder at her son. Jonathan didn't seem to notice – he was concentrating on fitting in the cooking pots. I was pretty sure he already knew his grandfather smoked.

Mr. Eames grumbled, but replaced the cigarette. "Guess I can't drink, either?" Which was funny, because he'd had a bottle of beer with dinner. "So... how long is this shin-dig going to last?"

The two sisters laughed – it was like stereo, since they sounded so similar. "Easy, Dad," Alex said. "Let them at least get the dishwasher started before you kick us out."

Without looking up Jonathan said, "And I have to get my ice cream!"

"You two on call today?" Mr. Eames asked, looking at Alex and me.

"Nah," Alex said. "We closed a case and spent the last two days doing paperwork, so unless there's a call-out we get a whole day off." I felt her arm go around my back.

"Aunt Alex," Jonathan called, "Can you come to my baseball game tomorrow?"

"Baby," Jackie said, "It's a practice, not a game. Your first game isn't for another two weeks. We'll invite her after that."

"Just give me advance notice," Alex said. "I'll do my best to be there."

"And Uncle Bobby, too?" Jonathan dropped two noisy handfuls of silverware into the basket and came to his mother's side. "I want to be shortstop this year. Can you come see me?" he asked me, wiping his hands on his shirt. "Mom, I'm finished – can I...?" He pointed to the refrigerator.

"Yes, go ahead," Jackie said. Jonathan didn't wait for an answer from me; in two seconds he'd pulled open the freezer section and was pushing things aside to look for his ice cream. Jackie continued, "I'll give you the schedule, Alex – they're so cute in their uniforms, but honestly, don't feel obligated. Make sure the door shuts tight, Jonathan."

Had Alex told everyone to treat me like I was a member of the family? It felt completely foreign to me. It was kind of nice, but I wasn't sure if it was good or dangerous.

* * *

Jackie's family left first because it was a school night for Jonathan. As soon as they were gone Mr. Eames lit up a cigarette, dropped into his easy chair and turned on the TV. I waited as Alex made a few dinners for her dad from the leftovers and put the containers into the freezer. As we left she quickly kissed his cheek and I shook his hand – he'd turned his attention back to the TV by time we reached the door.

I'd parked my car next to Alex's in the elementary school lot down the block from Mr. Eames' home. After everything that happened during dinner, I wasn't surprised when she linked her arm in mine as we walked. I knew the proper response: I tightened my arm a little, which pulled her a little closer. That's what she wanted.

I thought that was what she wanted.

"Am I bothering you?" she asked.

I looked down at Alex. She didn't break her stride, and she was smiling, but...

"Uhhh," I said. "No, not at all."

"You don't have to go to Jonny's games," she said. "I went to see him play tee-ball last year, and they were... Let's just say Derek Jeter wouldn't recognize the sport."

"I, uh, I know... It's not... Uh..."

"Bobby," she said, letting go of my arm. "I know we threw you off balance tonight with so much family stuff. I'm just trying to understand where you are. Where we are. I guess, even... if we are."

We stopped completely. This was not what I wanted to talk about now.

She rubbed her forehead. "Sorry. Look, I take it back. I don't want to go there. Really, I don't. It's just that I'm so happy you're here in New York again, and... Did I mention how great it is to be back at MCS as partners?"

I had to smile. She was grinning at me and I felt her genuine happiness. She'd been happy all evening, preparing dinner and spending time with her family. Unfortunately, her last words touched on what was bothering me.

"For me, too," I said. "It's just..." The calm, good feeling evaporated, and I rubbed the back of my neck. "I went to this... counseling session this morning – mandated."

Eames frowned. "Of all the stupid ideas... It's so insulting, so... lame! Why don't they look at your record of arrests, confessions and convictions? No, but they have to go to some so-called expert. Damn, Bobby, you probably know more about psychology than this shrink!"

"She's a psychiatrist," I said, kicking at pebbles on the sidewalk. "Doctor Geisen."

"Doesn't matter," she said. "You still do. I just hope the top brass didn't tell her what her final report is supposed to say."

I reached for Alex's hand. "She's smart; she seems okay. I'll, uh, I'll figure out what she's looking for. But I don't want to give her any reason..."

Joe Hannah wouldn't care if Alex and I were seeing each other, but I had to be extremely careful what I revealed to Dr. Geisen. She was very observant, and I didn't want her to pass along anything to the NYPD that would jeopardize my partnership with Eames.

She sighed deeply and shook her head. "Here we go again – trying to stay under the radar. How many more sessions do you have?"

"Six."

"Ugh. Well, when you finally show this doc how..." Alex squeezed my hand. "...how awesome you are, I'll take you to a Little League game to celebrate. In six weeks Jonny's team may actually know how to play baseball. Deal?"

She smiled at me again, and her face lit up. Right here in front of me was the main reason I'd jumped at the chance to come back to New York. We had to be very careful, but I couldn't resist...

I leaned down to kiss her. "Deal."

.


	23. Speak Now Or---

**SPEAK NOW OR...**

_Setting: after S10/E04 The Last Street in Manhattan_

* * *

"Goren, do you have the signed statement from Vanessa?" I looked up only to realize I was talking to my partner's empty desk. When did he step away?

There was no sign of Bobby in the squad room. I walked around to his side and saw the paper I needed right on top – I snatched it. Back at my computer, I opened the other forms we needed for Jack Driscoll's booking and hit Print for them all. When I got up to collect the print-outs I took my empty coffee mug along. Maybe some kind soul had made a fresh pot in the break room.

I turned the corner into the break room. The coffee pot was empty, and I saw Bobby in there, facing into the corner. He was on the phone, with a finger pressed against the other ear.

He was talking softly, but a few words came through clearly before I could back out: "Thanks, but I don't have time for... uh huh, but my job keeps me busy..." Bobby was fidgeting pretty badly, so he was either annoyed or uncomfortable – or both – with whoever he was talking to. It seemed like this other person wasn't letting him get a word in edgewise.

I wondered what the topic was, but I wasn't going to eavesdrop. Coffee could wait.

When Bobby returned a few minutes later I was surprised that he looked kind of flustered. I wondered if he'd talk to me about it, so I waited.

Nothing. He sat as his desk staring at his computer, which happened to be turned off.

Okay, there was always work to fill those awkward conversation gaps. I handed over some papers. "These need signatures," I said.

We spent the next half hour getting the Driscoll paperwork in order to hand over to the DA's office. We were down to the last few sign-offs when Bobby's phone rang. He usually answered work calls without bothering to check the caller ID, but this time he looked – and then got up and walked away as he quietly answered.

What was going on? If his mom had been alive – or even his brother – I wouldn't have given it a second thought. Bobby definitely wouldn't appreciate me sticking my nose into his private business, so for now I had to let it go. For all I knew it might be something trivial.

Captain Hannah was standing in his office doorway. "Eames – got a minute?" As I approached he asked, "Where's your partner?"

I turned just as Bobby reappeared from the break room, tucking his phone into his pocket.

"Come on in," Captain Hannah said. "ADA Vazquez will be here in a few minutes. Please tell me we have everything we need to put Jack Driscoll away – and not just for a stinking insider trading charge. Will the woman testify? What's her name, Valerie...?"

"Vanessa," Bobby said, closing the office door behind him. "She gave us a statement already, and she'll..." He glanced at me. "She'll testify."

I nodded and took a seat. "She will. When she thought Driscoll had killed her father, it was the last straw, and now she won't go back on her statement."

Instead of sitting next to me, Bobby stood in the corner. I didn't have to look to know he was restless, but it wasn't about this case. I'd been curious about the phone call; now I was becoming concerned.

The ADA arrived, and we talked for nearly an hour. I kept expecting to hear Bobby's phone ring, but either there were no calls or else he'd turned it off.

Afterward, I took my time cleaning up my desk. Bobby stood at his desk watching me – but his mind was somewhere else.

"So," I said, "D'you want to..." I paused. It was too late in the day for coffee, and I didn't feel like going for drinks – we'd spent too much time in a bar lately. I wasn't hungry, but I wanted a chance to talk to him outside the office. "...maybe get something to eat?"

He shrugged, and didn't answer right away. He sat down at his desk and arranged some books lying on top. "Tomorrow? I, uh..." He shrugged again.

"Okay," I said. "Tomorrow."

In another minute he got up and left the bullpen. I assumed it was to make another mystery call, but after he was gone a minute I heard his phone ring – it was lying right on his desk.

I walked around to peek at the display, and nearly gasped when I saw the caller ID: it said "Swan Club"! Had Bobby's calls been from the matchmaking lady? Damn that woman! Why was she trying to get her hooks into Bobby? Did she really imagine a cop had a few hundred thousand dollars to throw around on women with degrees in French literature?

Why was Bobby even taking her calls? Was he seriously considering a matchmaker service? I felt a sudden flush of anger. I needed to get out of the squad room.

I slapped my laptop shut, grabbed my purse and made a beeline for the elevators. I hardly breathed until I was locked inside my car in the parking deck.

For a while I sat and tried not to think. I made myself concentrate on slow, even breathing. It didn't work: my anger started to surge again. I pushed it away. If Bobby was interested in meeting some Swan Club lady, what right did I have to be upset? Did I have a claim on him? Professionally I did, and even on a friendship level, yes; but personally?

Actually...

Yes, I did. Yes! I could imagine my sister jumping to her feet and shouting, "Damn right you have a claim on him!"

Bobby and I weren't a couple, but we had a lot more going on than just being NYPD partners. Yes, I could definitely claim a personal relationship.

The problem was that we always backed off whenever there was the slightest chance the NYPD would break us up as partners. Working together was important to both of us, and we'd made that the top priority, at the expense of pretty much everything else.

It occurred to me that if I kept putting work ahead of personal life, Bobby might logically assume that I only wanted our work relationship. I was comfortable with that situation as long as he had no prospect of a girlfriend – but maybe the Swan lady was offering him someone who wouldn't set limits the way I'd been doing.

Now I was getting angry at myself. But what should I do? I really did want to keep our partnership going – and I also wanted more of the after-work part, too.

My inner sister had an answer: talk to Bobby. Tell him there was no need for any kind of matchmaker when he had someone who was willing and able directly in front of him!

Jackie would have immediately sent me back to the eleventh floor, but I started the car and drove home with the radio turned up loud to drown out her voice.

* * *

I was ready for Bobby the next day – maybe not totally prepared, but I had a basic plan about letting him know I was interested and serious.

Jack Driscoll's arraignment was on the docket for nine-thirty. Bobby and I met at the court buildings an hour early; we liked to leave time to get through security and find good seats. We'd only been in the courtroom a few minutes when they announced there was a problem with the computer system, and they'd decided to evacuate the building. We had to loiter outside until they solved their IT problem.

The delay would have been a good time to talk to Bobby, except that ADA Vazquez joined us and went over exactly the same information we'd discussed the night before in Captain Hannah's office. I felt more on edge every minute.

Two hours later we got back into our courtroom, and then had to wait again as they worked through the backlogged schedule.

Driscoll's arraignment was over quickly. He still had that vicious, smug look on his face as he pleaded not guilty, but he didn't look so cocky when the judge denied bail. Driscoll's lawyer got heated up trying to argue, but backed down when the judge threatened to hold him in contempt.

We finally made it out of the building again in mid-afternoon. Now or never, I told myself.

I caught Bobby's sleeve and started walking in the opposite direction from One PP.

"Eames?" he said. He didn't resist, although it took a couple seconds until he got into step with me. "Where're we going?"

I grinned at him and released his arm. "Lunch. That rumbling sound you heard back in the courtroom? It wasn't the subway – it was my stomach."

He chuckled. "I wondered about that."

There were lots of restaurants and bars in the neighborhood, but they were always full of cops, lawyers and court workers. I wanted a chance at privacy, so we went past several places we'd eaten at before. Bobby must have figured me out, because he just followed along.

I felt nervous about starting this conversation, but it was mixed with anticipation – the good kind of anticipation. Bobby and I had been skirting around our almost-relationship for a long time. I was ready to admit it was real and start thinking about the future.

After a few blocks I figured we were far enough away. I looked around at the storefronts. Bobby touched my arm and pointed across the street. "How about there?" he asked.

"Lucky us," I said. "We found the Original Ray's Pizza. I wonder how many of them there are in New York?"

"More like how many per square mile," Bobby replied.

We were in the gap between the lunch and dinner crowds, so it wasn't long till we had our slices and a salad to share between us on the table.

"You're actually going to eat this?" I asked, stabbing my fork into the salad.

"Sure. I'm trying to eat healthy and... and all that," he said. "You know – exercise, drinking water."

"Want to come running with me?" I said.

"Want to try the rowing machines with me at the gym?" Bobby took a huge bite of his pizza.

"I could do that," I said. "I might surprise you."

"You always do. Sooo..." He did the head-tilt thing. "You wanted to talk about something? I mean, we came here... out of the way..."

"Right. It's, uh, it's nothing bad, nothing catastrophic." I hoped it wasn't. I needed a sip of water.

Last night, as I thought of a way to open this conversation, I'd remembered the time Bobby invaded my car and just started talking about his experience in the Tates prison upstate. That definitely grabbed my attention, and we ended up closer and more open with each other. I was hoping the same approach would work today, too.

"We've been back more than a month now," I said, "and it's been good – we're right back in tune on the job, maybe better than before. The thing is..." I took a deep breath. Here goes. "The year we were out of Major Case – almost a year and half – it wasn't so great."

Bobby was completely focused on me now. He nodded for me to go on.

"The work was okay, it was fine, but the main problem was that I missed you... a lot. I, uh... it was so bad I almost got on a plane to Germany."

The reaction on his face told me I'd made a mistake to stay home. "Alex..."

"But I chickened out," I continued, fighting down the feeling of regret. This was supposed to be about finding a way forward. "That's what I always do – at least when it comes to us outside of work. Who'd have thought, right?"

Bobby looked like he was still digesting the idea of me in Germany.

"So I guess what I'm getting at here," I said, leaning in a little. "I know we have to be careful, but I'd like to... Let's not put this relationship on hold permanently, that is, if we both want..."

He reached for my hand. That was a good sign.

"Alex," he said. "If you'd... if you had come, it might have made things different – I mean returning to NYPD if we were already... And now, with counseling I have to, uh..."

I didn't know where he was going with this line of thought, so I held onto his hand and waited.

"I can't tell if this doctor is being straight with me," he said, "or if she's trying to get me to make a mistake."

"What kind of mistake?" I asked.

"Telling her too much truth."

It was a strange thing, but I understood Bobby's fear. Shrinks have never been on my list of favorite people, and shrinks that work for NYPD aren't necessarily looking out for the patient's best interests. Depressingly, I also understood his answer to mean he didn't feel safe to move our relationship forward.

My heart sank.

Bobby squeezed my hand. "Could you, could you wait until I... It's like a cloud over my head, and... I'll know in three weeks if she's going to let me stay."

At least he wanted me to wait for him. At least he wanted me. I'd been worried Bobby was getting ready to chase after a Proust-reading wonder woman. Instead, the obstacle was a smart, observant, dangerous psychiatrist who was going to determine our future.

.


	24. It's Not Working

**IT'S NOT WORKING**

_Setting: after S10/E06 Cadaver_

* * *

Whoever this Doctor Geisen was, I didn't like her.

I gave her the benefit of the doubt for the first couple weeks of Bobby's required sessions with her. On Monday mornings, after counseling, I could see he was kind of unsettled. But then we'd get into our work – research, calls, interviews, interrogations, even dull old paperwork – and I saw him bounce back to normal.

He hardly talked about it except to say he didn't want to tell her too much, in case she was reporting everything to our dear friends in NYPD's top brass. I know Bobby: he thought he could figure her out and then feed her the words and behavior she wanted.

Evidently that method wasn't working for him, because every week it took longer and longer for him to recover. I kept hoping he'd hit bottom and start improving, but it didn't happen.

If this doctor was worth her Hippocratic Oath, she had to see that her methods weren't working, either.

Anyway, I wasn't about to tiptoe around Bobby until he made it through the grinder. We had a job to do, and we both knew how to compartmentalize personal problems.

* * *

We'd made two arrests in our current case – a mother and daughter who murdered a man and then switched his body with a research cadaver that was slated to be cremated. Dr. Maya Zhuang and her mother were a weird pair: each brought out the worst in the other. They're the ones who should be in mandated counseling, not Bobby.

Their dysfunction was so bad that they couldn't settle whether they would have separate lawyers or one for both. The mother kept changing her mind about which option would give her daughter the best chance of getting off – as if any research lab or hospital would ever hire her now. Nobody knew what the daughter wanted, since she couldn't stand up to her mother to save her life.

My partner and I were used to waiting for defense lawyers, but sitting in the squad room for hours on a Sunday? This was insane. An attorney finally arrived to join the mother in the interrogation room. Within ten minutes he stormed out. Apparently Mrs. Zhuang didn't think he measured up, and demanded a more senior partner from his firm.

Bobby was getting more fidgety by the minute. I knew he had a counseling session sometime in the afternoon. Personally, I'd have been glad for him to miss it, but maybe he figured it was best to get them over with as soon as possible.

"Bobby," I whispered to him. "Just tell the Captain you need to go. On the off chance they actually get a lawyer before you're back, I'll stall."

"Stall?" I was happy to see him smirk.

"It's the least I can do after six hours of Tiger Mom Theater. Go."

* * *

The new improved lawyer didn't appear, and Captain Hannah finally put his foot down. He sent the women to holding cells and told me to go home.

I took my time closing up my desk until the Captain left. I thought about calling Bobby, but decided to send a text instead. I hoped today's session with the shrink went better than in previous weeks; if not, at least I could give Bobby a little relief from work.

Within thirty seconds of sending the text, my phone rang: it was Bobby.

"Hey," I said.

"I'm, uh, I'm already here," he said. "I just parked when I got your text."

"Don't bother coming upstairs. The Captain got fed up with Mommy Dearest's antics, so it's all on hold until the morning – assuming they finally get a lawyer, that is. So... You okay?"

There was a long pause. Damn. The session didn't go well.

"Bobby, are you there?"

"Pff! That's the question." He sounded angry.

"What?"

"Can you come down here?" He sounded scared.

I grabbed my things and dashed for the stairs. When I got to the parking level I burst out of the doorway and headed for my car at a trot.

Bobby was leaning against the driver's side of my car. He looked calm, but I knew it was a façade. He had his arms crossed tightly across his chest. I'd half hoped he might open them and let me hug him. Nope.

I rested against the next car, facing Bobby.

"It's not good," he said quietly, shaking his head. "I think she might... she might tell them I can't do the job."

His words hit me hard. After everything Bobby and I went through to get back to Major Case, was this shrink going to destroy it with a check in the "No" box? My stomach actually hurt.

"Bobby..." I didn't know what to say.

"Eames, I'm trying to..." He rubbed a hand over his hair. "I swear I'm trying to go along with the counseling, but now she thinks I can't change!"

"Change what?"

"Anger, mostly," he said. "Not trusting people, blocking people out of my life..." He shrugged.

"Except for me," I said, and I held out my hand to him.

Bobby took it. "Except for you." He dropped my hand and paced to the end of the car and back. "But there's no way I can explain to her what we are. She, she..."

"Nobody outside the cop world ever gets it," I said.

"It's... she turns everything I say into... an accusation. Not everything, but when I ask a question, she ends up questioning my motives, my actions..." He was really agitated now. "Every place I step she pulls the rug out. I got upset and walked out."

Under normal circumstances we wouldn't be having such a direct conversation. We understood a lot about each other without having to say it. But the threat of being broken apart again erased the lines we usually wouldn't cross.

I wasn't in a position to know if Dr. Geisen was antagonistic or using extreme tactics on Bobby. All I could see was his distress – it was real.

"Bobby," I said, but paused when a car drove into the parking deck. It didn't come to the area where we stood, but we waited until the engine stopped. The car door opened and slammed shut, and we heard the beep of the lock. The driver walked to the stairwell, and we heard that door open and shut.

In the minute of quiet I'd calmed down enough to think. "Bobby, let me say something here. I don't know if it'll make sense, but..."

"Okay," he said, coming closer.

"So, let's assume for the moment that your shrink doesn't intend to..." The words caught in my throat. "...to give thumbs down." The thought still hurt. "If she doesn't, then all this... questioning and accusing is meant to help. At least that would be what she intends, even if it's not coming across to you that way."

"It's not."

"A couple weeks back you asked me to wait – remember?"

He nodded.

I continued, "Well, let's wait a little longer. There's two more sessions?"

"Yeah."

"I'm betting that you threw her for a loop today, too," I said. "No way are you her regular run-of-the-mill patient."

Bobby thought about that for a while. "Okay, I'll go back... assuming I still am her patient."

He wasn't smiling or relaxed, but for my sake he was willing to try. I patted his arm. "Oh, you are, even if it's just so she doesn't lose her billing to NYPD for the sessions!"

.


	25. Work-Life Balance, Part A

**WORK-LIFE BALANCE, Part A**

_Setting: after S10/E08 To The Boy In The Blue Knit Cap_

* * *

I was already dazed from my counseling session with Doctor Geisen. Another tremor ran through me when I stepped out of the doctor's office and saw my partner, Alex Eames, waiting for me. Talk about kismet!

It couldn't be a setup, could it? I resisted the urge to turn back toward the window of Doctor Geisen's office to see if she was watching.

Could there really be hope for me?

Over the years I've conditioned myself to expect the worst – both from the criminals we pursued and in my private life. In order to have hope, a person needs to see some possibility of success, even if it's the tiniest prospect. I've been living without hope for years.

But just a few minutes ago my outlook had suddenly improved: two huge burdens had been lightened. First, Doctor Geisen told me she'd approved me fully with the NYPD. Then, even better, she'd given me hope of progress in my personal life. Honestly, even to comprehend that I have a personal life is a sign of progress.

There may be hope after all.

And now here was a third positive sign: Eames stood in the sunshine on a beautiful spring day, waiting for me beside the department SUV. She'd never met me there before, so it was too much of a coincidence to ignore. She represented the closest thing I had to a social, personal, human relationship. I suddenly had a new ambition to develop that relationship, even though I'd repeatedly screwed it up over the years.

Eames seemed wired beyond her usual eagerness for a new investigation. Maybe she was responding to my jazzed state. Maybe it was all on my side. Whatever the cause, our conversation felt a little off. She left me a couple openings, but I was mentally stuttering, and the opportunities passed before I caught up. I fell back on our comfortable "let's get to work" habit.

As we drove through Manhattan I tried to bring my racing thoughts into order.

Earlier, on my way into the counseling session – the final one required by the police department – I'd focused only on the question of whether Doctor Geisen would clear me for duty. In her usual technique, she kept me off balance throughout.

Once I knew my job was safe, I surprised myself. Instead of wanting to bolt out the door forever, I realized I needed to continue counseling.

I'm used to figuring out people immediately, and then getting them to tell me what I need to know. From the first session I knew that Doctor Geisen was using the same maneuver against me. However, even knowing that, I was never able to counter her tactics. The best ploy I could come up with was an outburst of anger, which in the end served her purposes better than mine.

It took most of our seven sessions to get to a point where I trusted the doctor enough to tell her more than peripheral, safe truths about myself. I couldn't stomach the thought of going through it all again with a different counselor, so I was relieved she agreed to keep seeing me, to keep building on our progress.

Now, as we neared the bank that was the murder scene, it occurred to me that if I wanted to continue to improve myself, I had to involve Eames.

Of course, she was already involved – after being my partner for twelve years how could she not be involved? – but I'd leave it up to her whether she wanted a more intimate relationship or whether she was satisfied where we were. Either way, she deserved to know what was going on with me.

No more delay.

"Eames," I said, "Can you pull over for a minute?"

She was concentrating on the traffic, which was heavy for a Sunday. She spared me a quick, curious glance. "What, right here?"

"I, I, I should tell you about my session with the, uh…"

She didn't pull over. "Did she give you an assignment or something?"

"No," I said, feeling an urgency to have this discussion before I lost my nerve. "No, I mean I want to tell you… about... Please, Eames–"

Her phone rang, and I sighed loudly in frustration. Without looking away from the road, she took the phone out of her pocket and held it out to me.

It was Captain Hannah. "Yeah, Goren," I said as I answered the call and put it on speakerphone.

"Are you at the bank yet?" he asked. "Because our friends at the FBI called me three times in four minutes to threaten hell-fire, brimstone and parking ticket duty if you so much as touch a deposit slip at the scene."

"But..." I checked a street sign as we passed. "We're only a block away, Joe…"

"No," the captain said, "I don't want to get into a pissing contest with these territorial pinheads. I'll save it for another time when it's more clearly in our domain."

Eames said, "Captain, the only other vehicles here are NYPD cruisers and an ambulance – no feds."

"I hear you," he said. "The order stands. If you're into the humiliation, feel free to stand outside the yellow tape and watch, but I'm officially handing this over to the feds."

I hung up and dropped the phone into the cup-holder near Eames. She parked across the street from the cruisers, but didn't turn off the engine.

"Not even a deposit slip, huh? Guess I'm not surprised," she said with a shrug. "It's not worth the trouble."

"With the FBI?" I asked. Eames was never one to back down from confrontation.

"No, with the captain. Now that you're cleared for duty, it's not worth getting into hot water right away." She was grinning now. "We should wait at least a couple hours before we challenge his authority."

I smiled and looked across the street, where a uniformed officer was stringing crime scene tape. I couldn't help myself: I observed. One officer talked to what must have been a witness, a woman in running gear; another officer talked to a woman dressed in a business suit – she was probably a bank employee.

"Bank branches aren't open on Sundays," I said. "This must be a main office or headquarters."

"This bank advertises itself as worldwide," Eames said. She was focused on the action across the street, too. "It's already Monday in Asia, so..."

"Could be. Do you see a security guard?" I asked, still scanning the scene.

"Nope, but it's not our problem. So," Eames said, "I pulled over like you asked. What was it you needed to tell me? Or wanted to tell me?"

"Yeah..." I'd been right about losing my nerve – I had no idea what to say to her now. "It was..." I tried to pull up the feelings and thoughts I'd had when I came out of the doctor's office. All I could remember was that riddle about the two doors. Doctor Geisen probably did an internet search for the answer – why else would it have taken her so long? The first time I heard it, I knew right away that the correct answer had to include a double negative, so it had only taken me a little while to-

"Changed your mind?" Eames asked.

This was the wrong time to let my thoughts wander. "No," I said, turning in my seat to face her. "You know this was my last session with her – with Doctor Giesen."

Eames nodded. She reached out to shut off the engine.

"But I, I'm, I decided to keep going... for more counseling," I said. "For a while, at least."

Her eyebrows quirked up and she asked, "Because...?"

"Because I think I can change my life, or... begin to change – to improve."

"That's good." She nodded again. "Improve what, exactly, if you don't mind me asking."

I had to smile. Was there anything about me that didn't need improvement?

.


	26. Work-Life Balance, Part B

**WORK-LIFE BALANCE, Part B**

_Setting: after S10/E08 To The Boy In The Blue Knit Cap_

* * *

Eames was gazing at me earnestly, and I wanted to give her an honest answer. No lies, no hiding.

I looked down at my hands. "I want to change... a lot. My outlook, my attitude... I, uh, I haven't had much of a personal life for a long time. Haven't tried. I focused on my mom, and on the job, but not much else. That's not news to you."

When she didn't reply, I peeked up at her. She was watching me with a hint of a smile, so I knew she was pleased, or amused – or at least not annoyed.

I continued. "Part of what I, we talked about in my sessions was, was..." I needed a deep breath. "It's cliché, trite, but... We talked about my life being more than the job, more than my work. And, uhhh..."

This was difficult, even knowing what I wanted to say. The car seemed too small. I rubbed my neck.

Eames helped me out. "And this change... it involves me?" she asked.

"Yes, yes. We've made a few – you and I – a few attempts at..." How to describe our sporadic, unromantic, unsuccessful relationship outside of Major Case? "At dating, or, or..."

"I know," she said, reaching across the console to touch my hand. "It's hard to put a name to it. So, you want to try again?"

"Not exactly," I said. I held her hand between both of mine, and finally began to relax. "Trying – the word 'trying' – implies an assumption of failure. I mean, if we want to see each other, or whatever we call it, we should just do it."

"I agree, except for a few tiny obstacles." Eames slid her hand away and held up one finger. "Our work tends to take over all our waking hours," she said, and then raised a second finger. "The NYPD brass don't approve of partners dating each other." Another finger. "We tried before and bailed whenever we hit a snag."

"I know, and that was because – at least for me it was because I put the job first."

"Yeah, and second and third," she said. "Same here. It's an occupational hazard."

"We can't change the long hours or the secrecy," I said, "but..."

"You know," Eames said, "we didn't go into it with a plan – when we tried dating before, I mean. It wasn't that we didn't want it, right? We care about each other."

"Of course!" I nodded, intensely grateful that we were in agreement.

"And sometimes circumstances opened up a chance for us to take it further," she said, "which was great, it was fun. But we were always kind of spur-of-the-moment. If Deakins so much as looked at us suspiciously, we gave up right away. And Ross..."

"I didn't want them to assign us to different partners," I said. That had been a big fear of mine. "But I want to make it work with you. If you want to."

She grinned. "I want to. How about this: we keep it off everyone's radar. Avoid patterns, different days, different places, that kind of thing. We'll use all that profiling expertise in reverse. And if it looks like someone might make us, we don't quit; we adjust. It's more work for us..." She shrugged.

"But worth it," I said. "You're worth it... to me."

I thought I saw a blush on her cheeks, but she replied matter-of-factly. "The trickiest part for me will be keeping my sister unaware. It's amazing how quickly rumors move from her to my dad to the cop retirement network to One Police Plaza. Although... it's kept us in touch with Jimmy Deakins."

We hadn't been paying attention to the action across the street, but the wail of approaching sirens pulled us away from our conversation. Two unmarked cars with flashing lights screeched to a stop in the middle of the street

"Took 'em long enough to get here," Eames said, smirking.

We watched as a crowd of feds in dark suits jumped out of the vehicles. Some dashed right into the bank, but a good number stayed outside, shepherding the witnesses away from the cops or taking positions at the yellow tape boundaries.

A third sedan arrived, and more FBI agents spilled out.

"Do we make such a production of it when we show up?" Eames asked. "It's like clowns coming out of a circus car. And do they need all those agents to do the job of two NYPD detectives?" She twisted a bit to look out the side window behind me, paused, and then pointed. "Hey, look at the coffee shop over there. See all the people watching out the window?"

I had to unbuckle my seat belt to see where she was pointing. The coffee shop was on the corner directly across from the bank, and diagonally across the intersection from us. It had a counter along the plate-glass window, and at the moment there was a double line of faces – some sitting, some standing – drinking coffee and staring at the action outside.

"Do you see?" Eames asked. "Right smack in the middle." She opened her door and stepped down. "I'll just be a sec."

"Eames?" Had she changed her mind about obeying Captain Hannah's order? "Alex?"

She ignored me as she strode across the street, showing her shield to the two agents who were closest.

I quickly turned again to scrutinize the shop window again – and I saw! I laughed and settled in my seat to observe my partner. My partner: the best detective in the world.

I watched the agents' faces. At first they were officious and condescending as they blocked her way to the bank. I wouldn't be surprised if one of them called her "little lady".

Eames' thumb jerked in my direction, and both pairs of eyes briefly shifted to the car where I sat. They started looking bored and restless; they thought she was wasting their time. She'd been slowly shuffling her feet so that her back was to the coffee shop; she wanted the agents to have an easy view without being obvious.

But then, whatever she said, it was quick and cutting. She'd already pivoted and was returning to the car by the time I saw a reaction from either man.

Both men's jaws dropped open. One agent's lips moved as he stared after her – probably a few expletives – and then he actually grinned. He was the first to get it. The other took a clumsy step after Eames, and then turned as though he was going to race to the coffee shop, but the first man roughly caught his arm and whispered in his ear. They wisely turned their backs to the shop before gesturing to other agents.

Eames kept a complete straight face as she climbed back into the driver's seat.

"How'd you break it to them?" I asked.

"Oh," she said, "I just told them that while they were performing their three-ring circus act, my partner and I had found the perp, or accomplice, or at least the most important witness."

"They didn't look impressed at first," I said.

I've always loved that wicked grin of hers. "I know," she said, "but they perked up when I told them a man in the uniform of a security guard from the bank was fifty feet away, sipping a latte mocha-chino and watching them play cops and robbers." She gestured toward the shop. "And... there they go."

At least the feds knew enough not to lose their man – once Eames clued them in. They organized, moved quickly on the coffee shop, and within a couple minutes the guard had been dragged out, struggling and yelling. The bank logo was clearly visible on his hat, shirt's breast pocket and both arms.

"Good call, Eames," I said, patting her arm. "He probably got a charge out of watching the police, thinking he was safe."

"Told you it was a circus. But he didn't get to finish his seven-dollar coffee," Eames said, sighing dramatically. She started the engine and carefully pulled out, pausing to show her shield and exchange a few friendly words with the city cop who was redirecting traffic.

Once we were a couple blocks away, I said, "Let's stop for lunch. It's on me. We should celebrate."

"Well, yes to eating," she said, "but it's a work lunch, and it's my turn to buy. How about if we kick off our new undercover dating with a real date tonight? You drive; I'll dress up; maybe dinner and a movie; the works."

"Yes, absolutely." I'd bring her flowers, too. I dug into my pocket for my cell phone. "Can I tell the captain how you did the feds' job just looking out the window of the car?"

We were stopped for a red light; Eames shifted the car into Park. She unbuckled her seat belt and leaned across the console to kiss me, one hand pressing heavily on my shoulder. Before I could react, she was back in her seat, driving forward with the green light.

"I wanted to do that back there," she said, pulling the seat belt back into place, "but with the cops and feds around... Oh, and make sure you tell Captain Hannah that no deposit slips were touched, and no yellow tape line was crossed."

.


	27. It's Not About Leaving

**IT'S NOT ABOUT LEAVING**

_Setting: about a year after S10/E08 To The Boy In The Blue Knit Cap_

* * *

It hit me like a punch in the gut. I needed all my self-control to keep from gasping. Bobby Goren, my partner of a dozen years, had just calmly told me about his intention to leave the NYPD and work with the FBI.

"When?" My voice sounded too high, too tight, and I wished I had water or coffee – or a margarita, for that matter – to relieve the sudden dryness of my mouth. Why had Bobby chosen the middle of the Major Case squad room, at the busiest moment of the day, to drop this bomb? I'd arrived at work a little late, and had barely sat down at my desk before he ambushed me.

"Oh, not right away," he said quietly, leaning toward me with both elbows on his desk. "I have a, a verbal agreement, but we didn't discuss any details." He looked so earnest, so sincere – hadn't he guessed the effect this news would have on me?

"How did-?" I had to clear my throat again. "Bobby, we just barely…" I stopped myself and clenched my jaw. No, no, no.

It wasn't even a year since Bobby completed the required sessions with the psychiatrist, Dr. Geisen; he'd gotten a clean bill of mental health. With that cloud over his head removed, our work relationship had soared. As in-tune as we'd been in our best times, we were better now. It felt natural, even fun sometimes.

I was also seeing our personal relationship growing as well. That part of our lives has been through plenty of stops and starts, but we'd finally settled into something comfortable. Stupid me – I was sure he planned to stay.

A minute ago Bobby had looked as though he expected a smile and congratulations from me, but now he was hesitant. The shock wave had bounced off me and finally returned to his side of the desk.

We stared at each other for a while, and then I took a deep breath and stood up.

If our partnership was over then it was over, but I was afraid I might blow up or melt down if we talked about it. I didn't want to do any of that in full view of our coworkers.

"Were you," I said, and had to stop to clear my throat. "Are you planning to tell me more about… this?"

"Sure, yes," he said, rising and turning toward the area with the vending machines.

"Not here," I whispered. "Let's, um, maybe go downstairs or… something."

We found an empty table in the cafeteria. I sipped a cup of hot tea until I thought I could speak without losing it.

I looked directly at him. "Bobby," I said, "why do you want to leave now? I thought we were doing great."

"We are. Eames, it's not-"

"I mean, we're at the top of our game these days."

He nodded, keeping eye contact with me. He was being cautious, so I knew I had to dial down the emotions and let him explain.

"What, then?" I asked. I hated this insecure feeling. "Did the FBI approach you, or… who made the first contact?"

He shrugged. "It, it actually started a couple years back, when we, um… after Captain Ross was killed."

"Oh." I took a swallow of tea, remembering the time when we both left Major Case. Bobby had taken a consulting job with the Army CID, and I worked for a security group run by one of my dad's retired NYPD buddies. "You mean you tried to get into the FBI back then?"

"I tried… a bunch of places. My friend in CID stayed Army for his career," he said, "and he was the first one who got back to me with an offer. By the time I heard from the FBI…"

"…you were in Germany with the Army. So the feds wanted you all along. But why go now?" I asked.

We'd kept our voices down, and were leaning toward each other over the small table. Bobby sat up straighter and nodded to someone behind me. I sipped my tea.

"Is this a private party?" Captain Hannah plunked down a large cup of coffee on our table, then caught a nearby chair and dragged it over. He sat and crossed his forearms on the table. "Sorry to interrupt," he said, looking from Bobby to me, "but the DA just took me on a trip down Memory Lane – which is why I need this much caffeine." He lifted his cup in salute and took a long gulp.

Bobby and I exchanged a glance – he didn't have a clue, either. "What's it about?" I asked. I hoped it was something quick, so Bobby and I could get back to our discussion.

"The Broadway singer who was murdered on stage," Captain Hannah said. "I thought we'd seen the last of the producer and his assistant."

"Dramaturge," Bobby said, and both the captain and I chuckled.

"We thought so, too," I said. That case had been closed a year ago. Thanks to the self-important assistant, who insisted on calling himself a dramaturge, we had an audio recording of the two men planning the murder. "They both took a plea deal. What happened?"

"Korman, the producer, has a new attorney," the captain said, "and he's trying to say he was misunderstood on those tapes."

Bobby shook his head. "You heard the tapes, Joe," he said to the captain. "It was clear they were talking about tampering with the rigging, and-"

"And he pled guilty!" I said.

"I know, I know, and I agree with you," Captain Hannah said, "but Korman's lawyer persuaded a judge to listen to him."

"It's going to be a waste of time," I said. That kind of legal weaseling ticks me off.

"Well," the captain said, pushing back from the table, "you're half right, Eames. It's going to be a waste of your partner's time." He thumped Bobby's shoulder. "This one's all yours. The hearing's this afternoon at two-thirty, so pull out your case notes – you know the drill."

I was surprised he only wanted Bobby working on it, but I didn't say anything. I caught Bobby's eye and grinned at him.

"Ah, you're not off the hook, Eames," the captain said. "That airline pilot you put away for his wife's murder? The feds are looking at him now for drug trafficking."

"Now?" I said. "We notified them about that… what, five or six months ago?"

The captain nodded. "Looks like someone at Homeland Security finally read the memo. They said they'll be here around noon. Pull out your case notes – you know the drill."

"Yes, sir," I said.

Captain Hannah rose from the table and tilted back his cup to drain the last drops. "No hurry," he said with a smirk. "Enjoy your break." He crushed the cup and tossed it into a trash bin as he left.

We watched him go, and then sat quietly for a moment. I swirled the little bit of cold tea left in my cup. "You haven't told him, obviously."

"No, I had to tell you first," Bobby said slowly. "I, I didn't answer your question."

I smiled at him, glad that he was willing to continue the thread of our conversation. "I know. It's going to take more than two minutes, isn't it?"

He nodded. "Probably, yeah."

"Okay, so we'll talk again later. Dinner?"

He reached across the table and covered my hand.

"I'm going to hate this," I said, and I felt the tightness return to my throat. How many weeks until he wasn't my partner any more? Or was it only days?

"Eames," he said, squeezing and then releasing my hand, "this isn't about leaving."

I stood up, leaned both palms on the table and whispered, "Try explaining that to Hannah when you hand him your resignation."

.


	28. The Last Last Straw

THE LAST LAST STRAW

_Setting: about a year after S10/E08 To The Boy In The Blue Knit Cap_

* * *

"I don't really feel like drinking, Bobby," Alex said, stopping me with a touch on the arm. "Besides, I have to drive home afterward."

"Oh." We were on foot and had just turned the corner near my neighborhood bar. After a long day apart, each of us handling a different old-case review, I'd driven home on auto-pilot, with Alex following in her car. I'd assumed she wanted to unwind – in fact, I was hoping a little alcohol would make our coming discussion easier. "They serve food here," I said.

"Bar food." She made a face. "You ever try it?"

I started thinking of alternatives she might like. "There's a Japanese restaurant another block over, or… do you want Italian?"

"Actually," she said, "I'm not that hungry. Can we just talk about why you're leaving?"

I took a moment to study Alex. I hadn't seen her since we sat in the cafeteria with Captain Hannah. She was much more agitated now than when I'd first mentioned my plan to leave the NYPD for the FBI. Was it all about me changing jobs?

"Okay," I said, pointing back in the direction we'd come. "Let's go to my place. That all right?" I hoped she'd agree to call for take-out. I was hungry.

"I guess." She shoved her hands into her coat pockets and led the way.

I had to hustle to catch up with her. "Alex, I…" She didn't slow down or even look at me – she was definitely upset. "I'm sorry we had to… I didn't mean to leave you in the dark all day like this," I said.

"So enlighten me. And look..." She threw a sharp glance my way. "I don't need the detailed history, or whatever spiel you cooked up. Just give me the main points."

I had to smile: she'd nailed me. Because our conversation this morning was cut short I'd unfortunately left her with the wrong impression, which likely explained her irritation. In my spare moments during the day I'd mentally rehearsed until I had the whole presentation ready. Now I had to think fast.

"Okay," I said. "Main points. This all started last month, when Doctor Geisen told me the Chief of D's office asked her about me."

"They what?" Alex caught my arm and stopped us. "That's none of their damn business! You've been going on your own since last year." Alex wasn't simply irritated any more – she was furious.

I nodded. "Fortunately, that's what she told them, too," I said.

"Good."

"But it means the sword's still dangling over my head." I felt my anger rising, too. "It means the top brass would be glad to find an excuse to… to…"

"…an excuse to kick you out – those idiots!"

"As soon as I heard that... it was the last straw." I'd been livid, but totally clear about what was going on and what to do. Now, seeing my partner's righteous rage, I felt comforted – and I felt more confident about my decision.

"I guarantee Hannah didn't know about it," Alex continued, "not after all he went through to get you reinstated – he'd have thrown a fit." She raised her eyebrows. "He probably will throw a fit when you tell him."

"Yeah, I figured he would," I continued, touching her shoulder and resuming our walk. "But at least I know about it. I'm done with walking on eggshells for them. I decided to move before they did."

"Idiots," she repeated quietly but forcefully.

We went about a block before she spoke again. "You don't want to go back to the Army again?" she asked. "You liked working with CID."

"I guess that's the next main point. I talked to them, but... they want me in Germany again."

"Oh."

During our year away from MCS, Alex and I hadn't communicated regularly – mostly because of me. I'm not good at letters, emails, or even texts. But I'd missed her badly that year – it surprised me how much I missed her! I wasn't interested in trying another separation, at least not across an ocean and half a continent.

"Yeah, I uh… didn't… Last time I..." I felt myself starting to fumble, so I took a deep breath. "I told the FBI I was interested in their BAU, and I wanted to stay with their New York field office. They didn't have a problem with that."

"I bet that's an understatement," Alex said. "You could probably write them a new manual on behavioral analysis." She looked up at me with a serious expression. "So what aren't you telling me?"

"Huh?" It's amazing: even after working together for twelve years, she can push me off kilter with that penetrating stare.

"Come on, Bobby, I'm not blind. You're fidgeting like crazy, even by Goren standards."

I realized I'd been chafing my hands – now I shoved them into my pockets.

"Too late," she said, linking her arm with mine. "I already read your tells."

My building was close, and I jutted my chin to point ahead. "We're almost there. Why don't we call for pizza, and-"

"Why don't you quit stalling?" She leaned into me. "What's the next main point? And how about if we call for Chinese food."

I knew what I wanted to tell Alex – I'd rehearsed this part – but my uneasiness came from trying to guess her reaction. She was definitely edgy, and not in a good way. A beer or two might have smoothed out the edge, but she wouldn't let me postpone any longer.

"Okay," I said, "the next point is... it's... it's why I want to stay local."

"For me, right?" She said it in a joking tone, and looked sideways up at me.

There it was: my perfect opportunity.

I took a quick breath, turned to grip her shoulder, and leaned down to kiss her. Alex seemed to expect a kiss on the cheek, but I aimed right for her lips. I felt her tic in surprise, but she didn't push me away.

I pulled back after only a few seconds. It was gratifying that she looked pleased and a little dazed.

"The next main point," I said, "is that I want to be with you."

I started to return for another kiss, but she put a hand solidly on my chest. Her smile faded, and she looked uncertain instead.

"Umm," she said. "We're... Haven't we been seeing each other?"

"Yes," I said, laying my hand on top of hers, "and I want more – I think we both want more." I looked right into her eyes. She wasn't disagreeing with me, so I continued. "But it's not going to work if we stay partners in MCS. We got the, um, we were lectured by Deakins, by Ross… We can't keep on hiding it from Captain Hannah... from everyone... from your family."

Alex took a small step back and let her gaze wander. The uncertainty was still there, or perhaps she agreed and was thinking it through. My suggestion couldn't have been a total surprise. In any case, I didn't want to rush her.

After a few moments I said, "Come on inside," and jogged up the steps to unlock the door to the lobby. She followed slowly and watched as I checked my mailbox.

Upstairs in my apartment I loosened my tie, then shed my suit jacket and hung it on the back of a chair. I found the large fold-out menu from the Chinese restaurant and handed it to Alex.

I was getting nervous because she looked so serious and because she hadn't said a word since entering the building. It was all in her hands.

.


	29. Get To The Point

**GET TO THE POINT**

_Setting: about a year after S10/E08 To The Boy In The Blue Knit Cap_

* * *

Alex glanced at the menu and then laid it on my kitchen table. "So...," she said, and grinned at me mischievously. "I might not completely hate your plan after all."

What a relief! I put my arms around her and hugged her. "I told you it wasn't about leaving," I said. "If we keep on like this, someone will notice eventually, figure us out. And with the Chief of D's already antagonistic..."

"Yeah," she said, "well, tough luck for him – he doesn't deserve us."

I'd foreseen this response – that she would once again offer to quit in solidarity. I held her shoulders and bent down to face her. "Alex, you don't have to leave." I saw her winding up to debate, so I rushed on. "We don't both have to leave the NYPD - you can make captain. They still like you."

She touched her fingers to my lips. "That wasn't what I..." She shook her head a little, and the color rose in her cheeks. "I need to tell you something, too. Maybe we should, um... sit down."

"What?" I asked, instantly worried. "What is it?" My thoughts raced. I'd assumed her agitation was solely about my decision – if it wasn't, why not? Had something happened to her during the day? While we were apart she'd been with agents from Homeland Security...

Within seconds a complete scenario formed in my mind: Homeland Security wanted to hire her out of NYPD. She'd accepted and would leave even before me. Were they taking her out of the city? Out of the country?

"Don't go off in your imagination, Bobby." She sat at the kitchen table and pointed to the chair opposite her. "Sit. Please," she said. "I'll take my own advice and give you the main points."

"Okay." I sat down slowly, simply concentrating on breathing evenly. She was in the chair I generally used; the different point of view was unbalancing.

Alex held up an index finger. "When we were working on that airline pilot case, you remember we contacted the NYPD Counter-Terrorism group."

Another NYPD department was involved now? It was hard to keep from racing ahead to the conclusion of her story. I had a dozen questions, but I wasn't going to say anything until she was done – or at least until I couldn't hold it in.

She took a deep breath. "Back then, one of them tried to give me his card," she said. "It was the standard recruiting speech – you know, serve and protect, we're all in it together, blah, blah, blah. I blew him off, because you and I were so... we were doing so great."

She'd never mentioned this to me. Of course, who was I to complain about keeping secrets?

"Anyway," she continued, "two of those guys showed up today at One PP along with Homeland Security. Do you remember Al Ulrich and Bob Luquette?"

I nodded, staying as still as possible. I hadn't disliked the men when we briefly worked with them six months ago.

"Okay, here's a main point," she said. "After Homeland finally got their info and left, these two made their pitch again. They have an opening in their team. And this time... Well, I didn't say yes or no, but I was a little more open to their suggestion."

"What did you tell them?" I asked.

"Nothing, really. I took their card." She opened the Chinese menu in front of her. "I like the hot and sour soup at this place."

Alex may have been trying to keep me calm by speaking so casually, but it wasn't working. What had begun as a knot of fear in my stomach had transformed into excitement and anticipation.

I reached for her hand and asked, "That's it? They would have pressed for a definite answer, they'd have–"

She smiled. "Yes, they did, but I only promised to think about it, and I told them to call back in a week."

"Think about... think about what?" If Alex transferred to this unit, she'd easily make promotions and move ahead, plus she'd keep all her NYPD seniority. This could be fantastic for her career. "What kind of offer did they make?" I asked.

Her hand pivoted so that our fingers laced, and she squeezed. "I didn't let them make an offer," she said. "Bobby, I needed to know what's going on with you first – and what's going on with us. Hey." She picked up the menu in her other hand. "I actually do want to eat, so let's order, and then we can interrogate each other. You still owe me a ton of answers about this FBI move."

My heart rate was slowing to normal again. "Do you think you want Counter Terrorism?"

"Honestly, if they'd asked yesterday, I'd probably have blown them off again, but now..." She shrugged. "Timing is everything, right?"

"What's, you know, your gut reaction?" I asked.

"Ummm, it's maybe, or even probably. We can do some research on them, but I feel like... well, they seemed like straight shooters when we worked with them. Didn't you think so?"

"Yes," I said. "They're okay. Alex, this could be a great move."

"Mmm. I'm more interested in your offer," she said, leaning across the table for a quick kiss. "You said you want to be with me. Give me specifics."

"Okay," I said. I took out my cell phone. "What should I order beside hot and sour soup?"

* * *

"Do you want some?" Alex asked as she pried open the pint of soup.

In answer I lifted my own pint of won-ton soup out of the delivery bag. "It's all yours," I said.

She must have been starving, because hers was half gone by the time I'd set out the other containers on the table.

Our eyes met occasionally as we ate quietly for a few minutes until Alex pushed back a little from the table and said, "They make the best hot and sour. That hit the spot." She grinned at me. "So... Can we start?"

I'd just stuffed lo mein noodles into my mouth; I nodded and waved my chopsticks at her to go ahead.

"It's been tough staying under the radar. You're right about that," she said. "We're good, but sometimes I wonder if we're fooling ourselves – if people see right through us."

"Yeah," I said. "Surrounded by detectives."

"I was thinking of my sister," she said with a smirk. "Anyway, I want to know what your plan is. I mean, if we both end up leaving Major Case... then what?"

It was exactly like Eames to jump directly to the conclusion. However, I wanted to give my answer some context.

"We already... that happened once," I said, "and we went our own ways, and, and it didn't work too well. I missed you."

"Me, too."

"And that was, that's on me. I meant to keep in touch, but... It's why I don't want to go back to Germany."

"Let's do it right this time," she said, "which brings us back to my question: what's the plan? Are you thinking about marriage?"

I thought I was prepared for this conversation, and I thought I was used to Eames' surprise interrogation method, but she made me blink and swallow hard. "I... yes, we... I mean, maybe not right away, but yes, I'm thinking about it."

A mischievous look was in her eyes, although she didn't crack a smile.

"What?" I asked. "You think something's funny."

Alex pushed containers aside to take my hand and kiss my knuckles. "It occurred to me I ought to send Doctor Geisen a Thank-You note. All this therapy is definitely having a good influence on you. And there's no 'maybe' – we're not ready for marriage yet."

"But... is it something you want to work toward?" I asked, pulling her hand to me and returning the kiss on the back of her hand.

"I bet that's how you talk in your sessions with her." She playfully arched her eyebrows.

"No, we use a lot of big words. German. French sometimes," I said, which made her laugh.

"What about art therapy?" she asked. "Have you done finger painting?" Her questions seemed to be taking us on a tangent, but it was clear she was favorable toward the question of marriage. She looked relaxed, as though she was sure we both knew the answer.

I tugged a little on her hand. "So is that a yes? Do you think you'd, um, can we think about... Or if not-"

She turned serious very quickly. "Bobby, we should definitely think about it. I, uh, I know we're kind of old for this, but... I'd like to enjoy the whole dating process, without having to worry about being caught."

"By your sister?"

"Yes, actually. She's the one I really want to tell – she won't be all that surprised."

"Dating would be nice."

"You know of course the FBI's going to make you travel," she said, letting go of my hand and reaching for a container.

"Only for interviews, or if they let me give training," I replied. "Nothing long term. You might be on the road for Intel, too – and you might have to work with Homeland Security like the guys today."

Alex grabbed a container and scooped a spoonful of fried rice directly into her mouth. "Did you want more of this?" she asked. "I don't have any germs. So, listen: eventually, whenever we do this-"

"Do this?" I asked. "You mean get married?" It was getting easier to say it.

"Yes, or if we move in together," she said. "We should both move to a new place. I'd like a clean slate, fresh paint, and maybe some new furniture."

I stole the fried rice container from her and ate a spoonful, too. "Are you trying to confuse me with this scatter-shot technique?"

She shrugged. "I'm just hitting my main points. Besides, who taught me the technique in the first place? And for the record, when we get to the point we're talking marriage, yes, I will want an engagement ring."

We were talking calmly, casually about life-changing decisions. I didn't want to take anything for granted, or leave anything unsaid that Alex needed to hear.

"I thought of another main point," I said.

She was picking out water chestnuts from the vegetable medley, and I waited until she looked up at me. I needed eye contact for this.

"What?" she asked.

"You know I love you," I said, "right? I do."

She tried to keep her cool, but I saw the blush spreading up her neck and cheeks. I held out my hand again. She swatted it away, and in a blink she'd jumped around the table and was crushing me in a hug so tight I could hardly move.

When she relaxed her clinch she said, "Yes, I know," and kissed my head. "I love you, too."

I wrapped my arms around her waist to keep her close.

She smiled as she slowly slid her fingers along my jaw. "Dibs on telling Captain Hannah first. I'll give him a two-minute farewell. You wait until he stops hyperventilating, and then jump in with your resignation letter. What do you think?"

"I think we should have job offers before we quit." I smiled up at her.

"Okay, but once I tell my sister we'll have to move quickly."

I pulled her even closer to kiss her, and she landed in my lap. When we finally paused, I said, "Dibs on telling your sister first."

* * *

THE END

.


End file.
